The Art of Butterflies
by SignedSealedWritten
Summary: She collected them because she'd always wondered what it felt like to be so free. She wanted to know their secrets. She wanted to know their art." When JJ is taken hostage, how will the team get her back?
1. Chapter 1

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

SAIC Aaron Hotchner took in the sight of his team, pulling on bullet proof vests and readying guns in a semi-circle around him. The past week had been a gruesome one for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Their chase for Anthony Bennett, a secretary who'd brutally murdered eight women, had led them to a cluster of warehouses in the outskirts of Washington D.C. The maze of warehouses before them was enough to make anybody's head spin – their UnSub could be in any of them.

When the team stared back at him with ready eyes, he nodded. "Our UnSub could be in any of them – we'll need to split up. Reid, Rossi, take Building A. Morgan, Prentiss, building B. JJ, you're with me." The agents set off to their designated buildings, ready to end the week long chase.

JJ and Hotch moved towards Building C, the largest of the three warehouses. Being on the field like she was today didn't happen in every case for the liaison, but she'd always felt the need to prove herself when it did. The chance to show the team that she could handle such situations wasn't one that she was going to miss, even I she knew that she'd already proved herself countless times. The two agents stood on each side of the door to the building, guns at the ready.

"Ready when you are, Hotch." She said, and he nodded before swiftly kicking down the door. They darted in, guns ahead of them, and saw another man's silhouette in the dimly lit building.

"Anthony Bennett, FBI! You're surrounded!" Hotch called out, his voice bounding off the walls. "It's over. Drop your weapon and put your hands up!"

But Hotch's voice was already sounding far away in a moment that seemed to hang suspended. She knew instantly that the moment was all wrong. JJ smelled the gunpowder before she felt a searing pain rip through her side and heard the crack of the bullet leaving the gun. She felt herself crumble to the ground, the breath gone out of her and floor rushing up to meet her.

Hotch fired the gun once, twice, but the shots connected with walls instead of their suspect, who was nowhere to be seen. In the maze of obstacles – shelves, boxes, and heavy machinery – he could be hiding anywhere, and not be found. Hotch dropped besides the liaison, hoping the bookshelves proved enough cover for them. He didn't hear footsteps or breathing from their suspect.

JJ's eyes were squeezed shut and he noticed the hard line her mouth had formed. She was laying half on her side and half on her back. The side of her that wasn't connected to the ground was covered in blood.

"JJ," He spoke softly, touching her cheek to get her attention. "JJ, I need you to open your eyes, please." She shook her head slightly in resistance. Though he was making an effort to sound composed, he was enraged at the UnSub for shooting her – shooting _her_, when she rarely went out on the field.

And he was fearful. If the man had fled, was he approaching the rest of his team right now? If he hadn't – where was he? No footsteps told his location – but people could move quietly.

"Yes, JJ." Hotch persisted. "You're going to be fine, but you need to open your eyes. You know that."

She did – they were frantic, pained, and sad all at once, and her face was pale as she grimaced, making a pained attempt at a deep breath. The liaison's hair was plastered to her face. "Hotch."

"I'm right here." He soothed, finding the wound just where the bullet proof ended. She saw him looking and shook her head again.

"Don't touch it." The statement came out as a question and he shook his head, his eyes gently apologetic.

She whimpered and he swallowed, feeling guilty. Hotch passed a hand underneath her, checking for the bullet. Her face drew tight in pain.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, not knowing what else to say, guilt swarming him as he pressed a hand against it to stop the bleeding. "It's clean." He continued, watching her eyes. "The bullet's out. I'm going to radio for them – "

Her scream took nearly every ounce of her strength, blue eyes widened in shock, staring at something behind Hotch. His blood curdled in fear and he turned to see the face of Anthony Bennett. The side of the gun was the last thing he saw before darkness overwhelmed him.

"Come on now, my little friend. You're coming with me."

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**My first full length Criminal Minds story – since Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks was more of a collection or a prolonged mini-series. I've got another case fic in the works, as well. Review please, tell me what you think! **


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Art of Butterflies **_

"Hotch!"

The familiar voice broke him through the fog, though thought wasn't nearly possible. If his eyes were open, he didn't know – he was blinded by pain. He wanted nothing more than to slip back into the darkness, but memory tugged at the corners of his mind – memory that he couldn't let slip away. Somehow, he knew it was important.

"Aaron, damnit, _wake up_!" Rossi yelled, causing the pain in his head to flare, flashing like lightning against the darkness he saw. Hotch groaned, feeling as if someone had split his head in two and lit it on fire.

"Stop yelling." Prentiss's voice was softer, and he recognized now that his eyes _were_ open – fuzzy shapes danced before his eyes, as if he were looking through a rain sodden window. One of the shapes grew smaller, lowering itself before him. He moaned again, wanting to sit up but knowing it would be futile.

Prentiss touched his face gently, and he suddenly found the action familiar, as if he'd done the same to someone recently. His thoughts shut down with another incapacitating flash of pain, and he hissed at the dissipating memory. Was that what had been so important?

"Sir, the ambulances are on their way." Even the quiet way she was speaking caused infinite pain. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." He felt her hand in his.

He did, though the reaction took time to get to his hand from his brain.

"Good." She didn't bother to ask what had happened – he couldn't answer anyway, but she hadn't failed to notice the pool of blood a foot or so from where he lay. It wasn't possible for the blood to be his, and JJ wasn't there. Prentiss could see in the eyes of the team that they'd also put two and two together.

"Reid, I need you here – see what you can deduct from around the area. Rossi, Morgan – until the ambulance arrives, look for her." Her voice was hesitant – both at taking sudden control of the team when Rossi probably should have been the one to do so – and at acknowledging their friend was missing. "I'll take over for Rossi once the ambulances get here." She promised, meeting his eyes. He nodded – he'd be going in the ambulance with his friend.

"I'll call Garcia and get the CSI here." Morgan said regretfully, not wanting to have to alert their technical analyst about both Hotch and JJ. "I'm going to kill this son of a bitch. That's a promise." He added in a growl, before departing with Rossi to check the perimeter, hopeful but knowing in his heart that they wouldn't find her.

She was gone.

--

When she woke up, the first thought in her head was of Reid. Was this what he had seen when he'd woken up in Tobias' barn? Was this what he had felt? If it had, she was so sorry. She suddenly felt she knew what it was like to be him – why he had struggled so much.

She then realized it was cold, and that her side still hurt, though it wasn't bleeding and a bandage was pressed there.

Had the team found Hotch yet? She remembered the side of the gun flying to hit her boss in the side of the head and she grimaced for his pain rather than her own.

"You're awake."

She bit back the urge to say something nasty – she didn't know how this man would handle it. She wasn't a profiler like they were, though she'd learned enough to know a bit more than the basics. She knew he was killing because he saw himself as emasculated in a woman's role. Would a comment from her do any good? She forced herself to think it through but failed miserably as a wave of pain nearly forced her to vomiting.

What would Henry do without a mother?

"I hope you're enjoying our little house here – you see, JJ, I've set this up just for us. You like that, don't you?"

She looked up daringly to find his face. There was a craziness in his gray eyes that she couldn't fathom.

"You wanted to meet me face to face, didn't you?" He crooned, madness seeping from him. His hair was sparse and he was nowhere near fit.

"What…" She swallowed and tried again, hating her weakness. "… are you talking about?"

He smiled and she hated it, but squared her jaw. She'd do this – she'd do this for Henry and she'd do this for Will, she'd do this for her team because she knew that Hotch would beat himself up over this and Reid would too, and that Morgan wouldn't stop until he'd found Anthony Bennett and ended it. She'd do this because she knew that she couldn't leave her friends – Prentiss and Garcia, she couldn't leave them to handle the guys all by themselves. She'd do this because Rossi was finally starting to understand what teamwork was and she didn't want to take the faith in this team away from him.

She'd do this.

"Because, JJ," He said, the madness replaced with a smile. "I saw you there, on the TV screen – you're not afraid of me. You've never been afraid. All that time, you talked about me but you didn't show fear, not like the women I've shown the truth to – and I'm so tired of all you women not knowing how to treat a man, how to respect and be afraid of him – and you're not afraid, JJ. Why aren't you afraid?"

She met his eyes, squared her jaw once more, and spoke her first lie.

"Because, Anthony – you're nothing to be afraid of." _And you won't break me_.

**--**

**TBC**

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for all of the reviews! I'm glad that you enjoyed it and I can't wait to continue writing it. **


	3. Chapter 3

**The Art of Butterflies**

Her words earned her a hard lap across the face – but upon her instinctive attempt to touch her cheek, she found that her hands were tied behind her back. Her feet weren't tied – but it hardly mattered. The gunshot wound prevented running away. When she turned her eyes to meet his again, her eyes were an icy fire.

"I thought that this would be easier." He said regretfully, leaning down and putting his face near hers. "I should have known it wouldn't be. You're one of the ones who think you can beat me." He placed a hand on either side of her head, leaning against the wall behind her. "Most of them, I killed outright. Their lives ended because they finally knew. When they died, I saw that knowing in their eyes." He stroked her cheek as if talking to a lover, and the liaison tried not to flinch, taking in a pained breath through her nose. It calmed her, some. "No matter how long it takes, I'll see it in your eyes. I will break you."

And he'd unknowingly given her the key. She wasn't going to let him break her. She couldn't. It meant death.

When his fist connected with her face once again, she let herself slip away. She let pain and knowing and existence fall into the background, and remembered.

She remembered Reid's statistics and rubber banding his chopsticks. She remembered Hotch, and how he smiled when he talked of his son. She remembered going to Rossi to help him with the case that had haunted him all these years. She remembered the sheer relief she'd felt when Prentiss had emerged from Cyrus' camp alive. She remembered saving Garcia's life and helping Morgan find new meaning in his. She remembered Gideon. She remembered Elle.

And she remembered Will. She thought of the time when they'd kissed in front of her teammates and the upcoming wedding that they were planning. She remembered her son, the pride she'd felt on the day he was born.

She didn't realize it then, but at that moment, she was remembering love.

She remembered until the final blow came and she smiled before slipping into darkness, saving good memories for the next time she needed them.

--

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the warehouse. What he lay on wasn't hard and cold, but soft and warm, and the light was brighter than it had been there. It was too bright, wreaking havoc on his head. Hotch blinked a few times, attempting to adjust to the light. One shaky hand reached up to touch the side of his head, the source of his pain – a bandage wrapped itself all the way around his head, and he hissed in pain.

"Hey. Good to see you again."

With a soft moan, Hotch turned his head to the side to find Dave sitting there, leaning forward with his forearms on his legs. There was something wrong in his voice – he didn't sound as he always did. More impatient, more nervous, not laid back.

And then memory came flooding back, starting with the butt of a gun and flashing backwards, until he ended up with the moment he'd ordered the team to the different warehouses.

"Dave…" He coughed, groaning and attempting to continue. "Anthony Bennett." His voice was rushed and panicked, his dark eyes angry and scared all at once. "JJ, Dave, tell me she's here." He attempted to sit up, only to meet Dave's hands forcing him to lie back down.

Rossi's voice was calm when he spoke, but the calm was forced. "The team is out dealing with the situation. I stayed behind to help with this part of the situation, so before you ask, don't try to get me to go out as well."

"He shot her, Dave. He took her, didn't he?"

Rossi rubbed a hand over his beard in a tired manner.

"Answer me, Dave!" He winced, closing his eyes for a moment.

"He did." Rossi answered, defeated. He'd been warned by doctors not to let him get too excited – he had a bad concussion.

"God damnit!" He breathed through his nose for a moment before calming down. "I promised her she'd be alright, Dave. You should have seen the way she looked – she was so damn scared and I promised her she'd be alright."

"She's strong, Aaron."

"This man's a killer."

"We know."

Hotch sighed, swallowing. "Do we have any leads?"

Rossi shook his head. "She wasn't killed at the scene, that's all we know." His last three words haunted him. From what the CSI's had gotten from the scene, JJ had been carried away – there was a blood trail, but it stopped at a point – he'd used a car. Reid had deducted as much in his time there. And it was definitely Bennett – DNA proved it.

"We need to find her quickly." Hotch said, and Rossi nodded.

"We know that, Aaron. And stop blaming yourself – it's not going to help you think straight."

Hotch just gave him a glare that meant death. "Who notified Will?" Notifying the family – it had to be the hardest part of any case, and this situation was nearly impossible to look at at all.

"Prentiss. He's on his way down here with Henry. He'll probably be here soon." The young boy would be too young to understand what was happening anyway, and there was nobody to leave him with. Will had been notified hours before – the BAU was already back at headquarters or out on the field, gathering evidence and working the profile, trying to catch any lead or crack in this man's armor, attempting to find where he'd take her – if he hadn't killed her. There was proof he hadn't at the scene, but what did that mean for right now? It had been two hours since Hotch had arrived at the hospital – Rossi had dealt with the doctors and nurses and spoken on the phone with the team at least twenty times since then, and they had no leads at all.

Hotch attempted a nod and then hissed in pain. His eyes masked fear and sadness with anger when he spoke. "If we don't find her, I'll never forgive myself."

Nobody messed with his team. Nobody.

**--**

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**Thank you for all of your reviews! Eleven in two chapters is great. Thank you guys for being awesome. And falc, if you're reading this – sorry for torturing her. –wince- But I'm torturing Hotch, too! And the rest of the team, if you think about it. And yes, Will **_**is**_** going to show up – if not in the next chapter, then in the one after that. And to foxyfeline – her words were a metaphorical kick RIGHT in that spot. **

**Thanks also to all the CM forum peeps who showed up because I asked them too. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

When she opened her eyes next, he was gone. The dimly lit room was cold and damp, the floor beneath her like cement. If there were lights where she was, they weren't on. Night would be impossible to distinguish from day. JJ's world was a hazy mess of pain – her face felt swollen and her shoulders ached from their unnatural position, pulled backwards by her tied hands. Worst of all, though, was her side. It hurt like nothing she'd ever experienced. In the vast darkness, without Anthony nearby, she let the first few tears escape, stinging her cut face. JJ couldn't let any more escape – open the floodgates and she was afraid she wouldn't be able to close them again, have no return back to the land of strength.

The blonde liaison closed her eyes and hoped the team had found Hotch, feeling guilty about how she'd treated him in the warehouse. He'd only been trying to help her, she knew that, but she'd been frightened and resisted his efforts. JJ knew her guilt was irrational – she hadn't caused what Anthony had done to him – but she did feel guilty for still wishing he was there to comfort her now.

Most of all, she wanted Will – she needed him, if she were being honest. She was tired, and she was hungry, and in pain, and she wanted to fall into his arms and close her eyes. She'd be safe there, she knew. Safe with her son and husband.

But at the same time – she didn't want him to see her like this. She knew it wasn't rational – Will wouldn't be disgusted by her, ever – but she couldn't help it. She felt weak and useless. Will was already certain that her job was too dangerous. What would the sight of her now do to that conception?

She moaned as she felt her stomach twist with hunger, letting her eyes slide around the room she was in. The cold, damp air clung to her. Shelves – wooden – were attached to the wall, and the only light came from the far end of the room – three long, thin windows. If there was another source of light, Anthony had turned it off when he'd left.

A garage. She was in a garage.

The sudden certainty of that notion hit her like a freight train, and she couldn't help but smile at what she considered her own personal victory. She clung to it. Would the team figure it out as well?

She twisted her hands in an attempt to free them from their binding. It was futile. The movement caused shockwaves of pain to run from her wound all the way to her jaw and down to her toes. With a glance, she saw that the bandage on her side was stained red. Had Anthony put it there? She drew on what little she knew of profiling – that meant he must want her alive. At least for now. She clung to that too, even knowing what it meant.

As soon as he saw the broken look in her eyes, her life would be finished.

"You will not break me." She whispered, resting her head against the wall behind her. "You will _not_ break me. I am Jennifer Jareau. I am strong. I have a mother and a father and I played soccer when I was little. I'm successful." Her voice rose the smallest amount. "I am in love with William LaMontagne. I am a mother and a daughter and a friend."

She closed her eyes and let the world fall away.

"I am Jennifer Jareau and you will not break me."

**--**

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**I broke this chapter into two parts because I didn't have enough time to put both parts up during class. Therefore, you'll get another chapter today. –smile- And I'm glad that you guys are enjoying it – I'm enjoying writing it and I'm so pleased at all the reviews. Good or bad, keep them coming! **


	5. Chapter 5

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"Aaron, this is stupid. Sit down."

"I'm not sitting down, Dave." He had gotten off of the hospital bed by himself – quite successfully – and was currently moving towards the bathroom to change out of the hospital gown. He clutched the bag of his clothes that the hospital had returned to him in his hand. "I was given legitimate clearance, in case you've forgotten." His voice said that the subject was final, but Rossi didn't heed the warning.

"You _threatened_ a doctor." Rossi reminded him. "Do you think that the team –"

Hotch stopped by the door of the bathroom. By sheer force of will, he didn't wobble in doing so. Save for the bandage, nobody would be able to tell what he had been through that day. After waking up three hours ago, he'd shown no outward signs of his concussion – leaving doctors, and Rossi, dumbfounded.

Aaron Hotchner was good at hiding these things.

"I think that the team is already down one agent and doesn't need to be down another one." His voice was stoic and his dark eyes hard as he stared down his friend.

Rossi shook his head. "And if you pass out on the field? How is that going to help the team?"

Hotch didn't answer. For the past three hours, he'd spoken to the team several times, completely ignoring the hospital's no cell phone policy. There was an APB out on Jennifer Jareau and Bennett's car, and they were searching all of Anthony's previous locations. No luck had come by them so far.

Struggling not to slip and hit his head on the ledge of the sink, Hotch tugged the shirt over his head, refusing to recognize pain. "this is going to explode in the media." He explained through the door to Rossi. "We…" his words were hesitant and his throat tightened. He felt as if he were betraying her or replacing her somehow. "We need someone equipped to handle that."

"I'll make a few calls." Rossi said, reaching for his phone.

"Just one call." Hotch responded, hoping she'd be willing. "Call Counter Terrorism. Agent Todd is already familiar with the team."

"She's too close to be objective-"

"We don't need objectivity, Dave. We need someone who can humanize her – if she's still alive we need him and the public to see her as the mother and friend that she is. We don't have the time to train someone else. Agent Todd is already trained."

"Point taken." Rossi answered. Before he could even reach a hand for his phone, it started buzzing in his pocket.

"Agent Rossi." He answered the phone as the door to the bathroom opened and Hotch silently watched from just inside the doorway.

"Yes, we're still here – we'll wait for you, then." Rossi kept the call short and closed the phone. Holding it in his hand, he answered Hotch's unspoken question. "That was Prentiss. Will and Henry arrived at headquarters – he wants to speak with you and she's escorting him here."

"How's he holding up?"

"She didn't say." Rossi answered, but the way he said it suggested something about just how he wasn't holding up. He shook his head, opening the phone in his hand. "I'm calling Agent Todd – let's get this over with."

--

Prentiss drove the car in silence, dark eyes focused on the road. The man sitting next to her was much more than just a victim's husband this time. No matter how many times she notified families of accidents, or of deaths – it wouldn't get any easier no matter how far she was from knowing the victim.

Being who he was, this notification had been a personal form of hell for the profiler. How do you tell someone that their loved one is missing? How do you tell them that you're not sure if they're still alive?

How do you admit it to yourself?

_You don't_. She told herself. _Because she's not dead and we're going to find her_. That was how she planned to survive the interminable stretch of time ahead of her – by telling herself that she knew how it would end, even if she didn't.

Will had agreed to leave the nearly one year old child back with Garcia – she could watch over him while working at her office. It was the only option that they had – bringing him to the hospital wouldn't be a good idea, not with Will the way he was. In fact, bringing him at all probably hadn't been a good idea, but Will had insisted, and Prentiss knew why. If and when they found JJ alive – Will wanted Henry there for himself and for JJ.

She pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, putting the SUV into park and opening the door. She watched Will silently do the same and feared how he was handling this. After a moment of outburst when she'd spoken to him on the phone – explained exactly how everything had happened, he'd barely spoken again. She didn't think it could be a good sign.

Together they went through the front doors of the hospital, the glass swinging closed behind them. When she'd told Will that it had been Aaron who'd been with JJ when she was taken, he'd wanted to talk to him immediately – but he was still unconscious at the time, and she told Will that she'd take him to Hotch as soon as his flight touched down. Prentiss could understand wanting to speak to the last person who'd seen a loved one before something terrible had happened.

She hadn't seen Hotch since the ambulance carrying him and Rossi had departed from the warehouse, and she couldn't help but feel a slight trepidation at seeing him again. He'd been unconscious the last time she'd seen him, after all – it was unnatural for anyone to see the Unit Chief vulnerable as he'd been then. Would he be alright now? Or would being awake, ware to what she was sure he was blaming himself unreasonably for only make him seem more out of sorts? There was no way that he wasn't blaming himself for all of this – he always did whenever something harmed his team. She'd only been there for a few months when Reid had been taken hostage, but she'd noticed the same thing then as well.

Emily Prentiss flashed her FBi badge at the questioning receptionist. Hotch wasn't in ICu – and she knew how easily that could have happened – but she was surprised to find that he'd been released. Rossi had told her on the phone that they were still there, and that they would wait – had Hotch forced the doctor to sign off on an early release? It sounded just like him, and she shook her head in irritation. He couldn't think of himself for even five seconds – but at a time like this, perhaps they couldn't afford it.

JJ was still missing, after all.

"He hasn't left yet." The woman said, confirming her suspicions. "He's in Room AC-211…"

Will took off down the hallway at a full sprint, his shoes hitting the floor at record speed. The look that she'd caught on his face before he had run had been pure violent anger.

"Hey, sir, where are you going?" The confounded woman asked, but Prentiss was already gone, taking off at a full sprint after the retreating former detective.

She couldn't allow him to get to Hotch – not if she'd seen the look in his eyes and interpreted it correctly.

"Shit."

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**I'm sorry that I didn't get to upload this chapter yesterday – I'm not too happy with it, actually, but I guess it'll have to do, considering that I just uploaded it. Will definitely did just take off down the hallway towards Hotch's hospital room. You'll have to stay tuned to find out what happened – unless you're Agni, my awesome beta (more of idea bouncer) or falc, who can probably **_**guess**_** what's going on right now, if he interprets the clue I gave him earlier correctly. **

**Stay tuned, my furry little friends. **

**-SSW**


	6. Chapter 6

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"I cling to your promise,

There will be a dawn."

-Beauty from Pain, Superchick

"_You're going to be fine." _He'd promised her. She remembered it clearly. He'd told her that she would be alright, and Aaron Hotchner was known for telling the truth. The garage was suddenly colder – or was she hotter? Her teeth chattered against one another. Waking up to a fever was not what she'd been planning when she'd drifted off.

"You promised me, Hotch." She stated, craving warmth. In a thoughtless attempt for it, she tried to curl into herself without falling over. The agony that it caused in her side forced her to cry out, gasping, nearly losing her grip on consciousness. She knew that it was stupid, and probably the product of a fever, but she stubbornly clung to Hotch's words. Rationally, they weren't even a promise. He hadn't used the word 'promise' once.

But Aaron Hotchner didn't lie.

She was cold, she was tired, and she was thirsty. The liaison bit her lip and tentatively lifted one edge of her shirt – realizing seconds later that the bullet proof vest was missing – to find the bandage. Blood blossomed from the center of it, dried brown but still bright red in the middle. She hadn't stopped bleeding fully yet. JJ willed herself to continue and slowly peeled back the edge of the white cloth. Seeing the skin underneath was confirmation of her fears. Dirt clung to the bandage, an infection either waiting to happen or already in progress. Biting down harder on her lip, tasting blood, she pressed the bandage back down and held her hand as tightly as she humanly could over it.

Was the fever from infection? If that was true, she knew that the clock had already started ticking. How long had she been missing? It felt both like forever and only an instant since Hotch had told her he'd radio for the team. Had she been gone for days? Months? Minutes?

Overhead, a light flickered on – it seemed to struggle in the act, flickering twice and then turning off all together before buzzing to life. The source was three overhead bulbs encased in the ceiling – spotlights. She had them in her kitchen. JJ held onto the strange familiarity of that.

JJ knew that the possibility of things he could do to her were frightening. Internally, they frightened her so much that she could scream from fear right then and there. But she wasn't going to think about those things that he could do that weren't death, because she didn't want to die. She had too much. She wouldn't let herself think of the things that were worse than pain and scarier than death.

"I see you've woken up, Jennifer." The words emerged from the corner of the room- Anthony. He stepped downwards and she looked behind him to find a door – did it lead to the rest of the house? Though she doubted that she'd be able to run far, she stored the knowledge in her mind for later use.

She couldn't hold back the response, even knowing that it would only anger him. But she also knew that the moment she gave in, she was dead. She was a goner the moment he stopped abusing her because he saw that he had broken her. "You'll call me Agent Jareau." She snapped, though her voice didn't carry as much power as she'd have liked it to. JJ wished she could cross her arms, but they were crossed behind her. She settled for a harsh glare, her chin raised defiantly.

He kneed her in the ribs; she was reduced to a heap on the floor, the pain in her side momentarily forgotten as he kicked her jaw. JJ was pretty sure that he'd just achieved cracking at least three of her ribs – and though her mind was hazy and thickened by pain (like wading through sizzling hot soup) – she didn't think he'd broken her jaw. She was sure that she'd have blacked out if he had.

Through her nearly closed mouth, she hissed out words that sounded suspiciously like four letter ones, and it earned her another kick to the ribs. JJ's vision started to go fuzzy as she felt a fourth rib crack.

"Those woman," she gasped out, blinking tears away, "were not afraid of you. The only _truth_ that they saw…" another slow breath, dizzying and painful "was that you are a coward. They could see right through you." The goading idea proved correct – he knelt down before her and she used the moment to catch her breath. She was going on that one idea – that he wouldn't kill her unless he saw fear and respect of him in her eyes. Never fear, never die – that was her new goal.

He gripped her face- digging his fingers cruelly into the side of her cheek – but she kept her eyes defiant. If he was torturing her, he wasn't killing her. "You're wrong."

And she couldn't die, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much she wanted to scream out and let it all fade to black, she couldn't. She wouldn't.

"You know I'm right." She hissed.

Not even when he trailed his fingers lower down, from her jaw and down to her neck and lower, did she wish to die.

She had too much to live for.

Not when he trailed his fingers even lower than that, did she lose her will to live.

_I am Jennifer Jareau and I can't let you break me._

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**Sorry for the long wait, guys. I didn't mean to keep you waiting. And you'll get to see what Will's about to do in the next chapter. Poor JJ. I feel bad about harming her, really I do. But it's necessary for the plot line. **

**On another note, please please review! It lets me know what you're thinking – and that someone's reading. Even if you totally hated it, let me know and tell me how to improve! **

**Until next, **

**SSW**


	7. Chapter 7

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean."

-Maya Angelou

The silver doors of the elevator closed inches in front of Prentiss' nose, clicking shut with William LaMontagne inside. The machine began to whir, stretching it's ascent to what she was sure was Aaron Hotchner's hospital room.

"Oh, this is not my ay." She muttered, hissing out a breath. "_So _not my day." She took off down the hallway once again, reaching the stairs and stopping short. The profiler kicked off two inch heels – not useful when one is about to be running up two flights of stairs. Prentiss grabbed them in one hand and the railing in another and took the stairs two at a time. She didn't have a chance to reach for her phone, warn Rossi – no, her best bet was purely to run. Breath pounded out of her- not too many things winded her, but these stairs nearly did the trick. Her vision threatened to tunnel, but she pushed on, reaching the right floor just as she caught the sight of Will disappearing into a room she didn't doubt was Hotch's.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me." She stopped the involuntary action of her hand moving to her gun holster. Prentiss suddenly wished that Morgan wasn't back at headquarters going over the victimology from the case everyone thought was just about completed. Reid was there as well, going over the geological profile, and Garcia was in her office with Henry. The weight of being the only one able to stop the raging Will fell onto her shoulders and gnawed at her as she dashed forward.

From inside the room on the other side of the hallway, she heard a cautionary warning – Rossi's voice, loud and trying to stop whatever situation was about to take place. _Please don't let Will have a gun_. He hadn't had one – everyone had to go through checks when going into the police office, and again at the hospital doors – but it didn't stop the thought from entering her head.

"_Calm down, Will, wait a minute – it doesn't have to go this way. Let's talk for a moment." _Rossi's words filled the air, and she had no doubt that Will's eyes were the same as she'd seen them last – suddenly filled with a violent, impatient rage that sent chills down her spine.

She burst into the room just as the action hit its peak.

"I'm done with _talking _and _waiting –_ waiting's what got her into this in the beginning, isn't it?" Will said, New Orleans accent thick in his anger. "You," he pointed a shaking finger at Hotch, who was seated on the edge of the bed. Prentiss could see him try to rise and face the situation, but unable to do so quickly enough. Rossi caught the site of her standing there, his hands out in a surrendering sort of motion towards the angered man. "You let her go!" He continued. "You let him take her You could have done something. This is your _fault_." He spat. She'd never, ever seen her friend's fiancé this way.

"Will-" She began, but he didn't even turn around.

"Will, there was nothing I could do – I did everything I could when she was shot. I couldn't stop him from taking her. He knocked me unconscious." Hotch's voice was calm and reasonable, but Will was having none of it. The anger was hot in his blood.

"You should have known he'd _do that_!"

The fist flew so quickly that none of them possibly could have stopped it – she doubted that Will could have, either. It was an almost involuntary action. The punch connected with the bridge of Hotch's nose, blood spurted from it immediately. Almost just as quickly, Rossi was restraining the angered man, but the heat was gone from him – he didn't fight when he was pulled back; he let it happen. The words he'd meant to speak fell from his lips never the less, and they carried so much in them that Prentiss was sure her heart would break.

"That was for Jennifer, you son of a bitch."

Security guards had finally caught up with them – the screaming from inside the room must have done it. While Rossi was taking care of talking to the security guards and restraining Will, she took on Hotch, sitting gently next to him on the bed. One hand covered his nose; he appeared to be out of it, and she knew that the concussion had to be adding something to that complex. She took three fingers and turned his face towards her, grabbing tissues from the bedside table. Prentiss gently tugged his hand down, watching as his pained, shamed eyes met hers. She was certain in that instant that the pain so apparent there was not physical. It was Will's words that had harmed him most. The kindergarten rhyme had never been so far from the truth.

"Let me," she told him, carefully apologizing when she pressed the makeshift gauze to his nose. "Do you think it's broken?"

"It doesn't matter, Prentiss." He answered, voice garbled, though from the way he'd winced then, she was sure there must be at least a hairline fracture.

"I'm sorry, Hotch, I tried to stop him – he took off when he heard your room number." She handed him another tissue for his blood covered hand.

"He had all the right." Hotch answered, closing his eyes for a brief moment so that he didn't have to see her. The world tilted on its axis, dizzied vision racing across his eyes.

"He didn't, Hotch – you know that. Tell me you're not going to sit here blaming yourself."

"He needed that as much as I did, Prentiss. He let his anger out, that's good. As long as he's not impeding the case by putting that anger elsewhere." His voice was certain, entirely absolute.

"Hotch-"

"Don't argue. He got the anger out of his system – it'll let him focus on telling us all he knows about JJ. If he's mad, if he's bitter and resentful, he can't concentrate. What he just did got that out of his system."

Prentiss didn't answer, only barred Hotch's hand from rising to take her place. "I've got it. You might be thinking you're fooling everyone with this 'perfectly fine' business, Hotch, but I'm not taking any chances."

He sent her a look that would send demons running; she pretended not to notice. "I wasn't born yesterday." She commented finally, disposing of the old tissue and replacing it with a new one, barely able to look at Will. The former detective stood across the room with two security guards and Rossi, who explained the current situation with as much ease as he could muster.

"We'll find her, Hotch." She added, after a moment of staring at the proceedings. Hotch had decided not to press formal charges, but Prentiss knew that new restrictions were going to apply when Will was around any crime scene. Most likely, he wouldn't be given special privileges to join them on the scene – if he had another outburst like he'd just had, then he could seriously harm their chances of obtaining her alive once they found her. Not only could he injure others around him during such a stressful moment like that, but he'd stand a good chance of injuring himself – and even JJ – at that.

"I don't need or want false hope, Prentiss." He answered, eyes focused on Rossi.

She shook her head, blinking back tears that she didn't want to fall.

"It's only false until you prove it so."

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**I'm loving writing this story. Please review! It shows me that someone out there is reading what I'm writing. **

_**Also, a special note to falc, who knows how it "really" ends. If it were possible for you to come in and strangle Bennett, it would happen. At this very moment, JJ is considering using her hulk strength. She thinks of you and totally goes hulk. **_


	8. Chapter 8

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"This is absolutely ridiculous." Spencer Reid said, fighting the urge to throw down his marker and scream. "Morgan, there's nothing here – we went over this map during the case." Bennett had, like most UnSubs, killed away from his home, but there was no pattern – he'd scattered his victims throughout. His home was sectioned off with police presence. "There's nowhere evident that he could have taken her." Reid refused to admit that she might become the next red dot on the map. He had to believe that she was still alive: she'd been alive when taken from the scene, where the other victims had been killed where he found her. He had to believe that she was different, for some reason – that Bennett didn't have plans to kill her just yet.

There had to be a way. She had to be alive. Unless he had concrete evidence to the contrary, that was what he would believe.

Even when there was that voice, whispering for him to prepare for the worst…

"Come on, kid, use your genius." Morgan urged, flipping through countless pages of victim profiles. "Prentiss said they'll be back here soon – we'll have fresh eyes then. Just keep going."

The victims had all been connected to Bennett in some way – they'd said something to him that he perceived as an injustice, no matter how small or insignificant it was. Most he'd spoken to on the phone and found through records. Only one was connected to him in an extreme way – it had been his last victim, the way that they'd found out who he was – the other secretary in the building, a female. The team had thought that was his final victim – but the taking of JJ had proved them otherwise. Whether or not it had been a snap decision, Reid figured that nobody but JJ and Bennett knew.

Morgan's phone rang, piercing the momentary silence that had filled the air. Besides the DC police, who were working the case in separate sections of the office – they were alone in the headquarters that had been set up.

"Hey baby girl, what's up?" His voice didn't carry the usual happiness that it did when talking to her – there was too much going on for sweet talk and teasing. Instead, his voice was tight, and tired. He'd had to tell Garcia that JJ was missing a few hours ago – breaking that news to her was something that he never wished to do to her.

"Prentiss called." Garcia's voice didn't hold any excitement at that, letting him know immediately that it wasn't news of them having found JJ. "They're on their way back to the precinct – her, Rossi, and Hotch. And Agent Todd should be arriving shortly as well – they needed someone to handle the media. She's coming from NY." She paused a second before continuing. "Will's coming too… He's needed for interviews, see if we can find anything out about our angelfish that might point us to her…"

"Garcia, what aren't you telling me?" He heard that in her voice as well – years of phone conversations had taught them both to catch the miniscule things in one another's voices.

"There was an… incident?" It came out as a question. "At the hospital. Will, he took off and, well, to put it simply, he punched Hotch in the face."

"He _what?_!" That caused Reid to turn away from the map that he'd begun to stare at again, turning to Morgan with a question in his eyes. The older profiler held up a finger, and Reid leaned against a desk.

"Hotch is fine – hairline fracture." She said quickly. "But Will's not going to get any special privileges on this one – definitely not going to be riding with you guys in the hotshot cars when you find her." He noticed how she'd said when, not if – they all seemed to be thinking that way.

"He couldn't keep his fists to himself, could he?"

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing if you were him." She chided, and he could hear her fingers taping away on the keyboard. He didn't answer her question, instead, responded with a question of his own.

"You find anything, babe?"

He could hear her fingers moving more furiously. "Nothing we don't already know, sweet cheeks. Bennett's victims were all perceived injustices – no surviving victims, and the one secretary we already know about, the …" He could almost see her finding a word. Final didn't fit anymore. "the last victim. That's all. But I'm searching. I'm not going to give up on her, Derek."

"We're not either." He answered, looking towards Reid, who'd begun to work on the map again. "We'll see if we can get some of the people who were close of him in here again to interview them." They'd stop at nothing to get her back.

--

Blonde hair, dirty and limp, framed the young woman's tired face. The concrete was hard beneath her. As she lay on her side, memories of past moments came flashing back to her, dark and sinister. The liaison couldn't close her eyes against them – when she closed her eyes, those same images danced like demons before her. Suddenly, she was certain that she wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon.

He hadn't stabbed her, as she'd feared he would do, like he'd done to his other victims. Perhaps he hadn't seen the same fear in her eyes that he claimed he'd seen in theirs right before he killed them. But JJ _was_ afraid – she was more afraid than she'd admit, even to herself.

Agonizingly slowly, he'd taunted and teased her, trying to lead her to believe he'd rape her – trying to make that fear appear in her eyes. Perhaps with someone else it would have worked – JJ knew he was impotent. It hadn't stopped her heart from beating frantically for the past hour, though, fearing the worst even though she knew it wouldn't happen.

She thought of Elle. Was this what had driven the woman to crack? That feeling of his hands still being there? She wanted to cry out, wash the reminder of his fingers from her skin.

She wanted to sob. She wanted to, but she wouldn't. Bennett would see her. Bennett would end it – she wanted to remain alive.

She'd endure this – For Henry, for Will.

For herself, because she refused to let herself down. She was strong. She could beat this.

She hoped.

Because the other option was too much to think of.

She remembered her motto on the soccer field – do you best, show them that you can. People always had preconceived notions about the blonde haired, blue eyed girl from a small town. Her motto on the new type of field – the FBI type – had been no different.

She couldn't let him change that now.

JJ groaned. Her body ached and her wound was pressed to the ground. She needed to move. Her hands were still tied behind her back and a searing pain in her right shoulder screamed dislocation. With painful movements, she managed lying on her back. The fever bit at her, forcing her to shiver and her bones to ache. She knew that it wouldn't be long now before Bennett was back – he never let long go between when he left and when he returned.

She wanted to go home. She wanted nothing more. She didn't care which of her various 'homes' it was – it could be Garcia's couch for all she cared. As long as she knew that her family was safe. As long as she knew that, as long as this was over and she knew that nothing would touch them, she could sleep peacefully.

She suddenly realized that she didn't want him to see her – Will. She didn't want him to see her like this: dirty, afraid, even if she was trying not to show it – a mess. She had to be clean first. She had to look strong first. Some part of her knew that it would make no difference to him – but the other part thought that he might be able to see past it all to the tiny part of her inside that was struggling not to break. It was irrational, she knew – but nothing was rational in this place. Everything was bleak and dark and it was hard to try and remain defiant.

Colors danced before her eyes. In Bennett's absence, she could allow herself this tiny bit of weakness – save the strength for proving herself against him. She knew she had a depleting supply of strength. Idly, JJ wondered where he went when not in there – did he sit around in the house and watch football? She was in a garage, she pondered, out of it – it must be connected to a house. The fever hazed around her mind.

She let her mind half-wander, pondering breaking out of her restrains and breaking free of Bennett – at the very least kicking him where it would hurt.

How had Reid handled this for two long days? She hadn't been captive for more than eight hours. Swallowing, she thought of how strong he must've been. She needed his strength now, because she wasn't strong like that. Could she possibly handle what he had?

She needed to. For Will. For Henry. For herself. For the team.

And, she added a new reason now: those women that Bennett had killed – she'd survive for them, too.

And just like she knew that it would, the door to the garage opened, letting clear light stream through.

She could only wonder what terrors he was bringing with him this time, and thinking of her son, she squared her aching jaw and raised her eyes to his face.

_For Henry, for Will, for me, for the team – for those women. I am Jennifer Jareau and I cannot let you break me. _

**TBC**

**Author's Note:**

**Just some notes: yes, she does have a fever, and that is making her semi-delusional – hence the thoughts of Bennett watching football and other thoughts she may not have had before this chapter –some of the doubts of herself included. Though, while she's strong – she's refusing to let him break her down – but she does have those little doubts now, and not all of them are the product of the fever. Those little fears, having to reassure herself – the change of her phrase – "I am Jennifer Jareau…" went from "will not" to "cannot let you" on purpose. **

**There's some good JJ stuff coming up, but this chapter was necessary first. I hope that you enjoy it – please review. It lets me know that you're out there – and I do try to respond to every review. (And I love anonymous reviewers as well!)**


	9. Chapter 9

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

Penelope Garcia entered the interrogation room with the young child on her hip. Her outfit was its usual cheery self - pink and green, a large blossom in her hair – but the face of the BAU's technical analyst did not, for once, reflect her outfit. Her eyes were sad and tired, but did not lack drive. She wasn't going to let anyone take their Jj away. The boy she carried on her hip was nearly a year old – how much of her would he remember? She couldn't let all this little boy knew of his mother come from pictures and stories. Garcia pressed her cheek to the top of his hair, feeling an odd maternal instinct. She remembered, almost a year ago now, when JJ and Will had asked her to be Henry's godmother. It wasn't a duty she was going to fall on now.

"Don't worry, baby, Aunt Penelope's going to take good care of you until your Mom comes back. And she will. I promise you." She said, and Henry cooed, smiling. The sight broke the analyst's heart.

She'd received a call from Morgan only moments before, asking her to come down to meet them in the interrogation room. Prentiss, Rossi, Hotch, and Will had recently arrived at the precinct, and met up with Morgan and Reid at the headquarters that the DC force had set up for them. Garcia – having one of the rare cases where she'd traveled with them – had set up in another small room in the precinct. She'd been researching and watching Henry when she'd received the call to come down and bring Henry.

Standing in the viewing area of the interrogation room were Hotch, Morgan, and Will. On any other day, Garcia would have teased Hotch about the splint on his nose – but not today. She was vaguely surprised – after the outburst will had, he was standing calm as ever. No grudges seemed to be eld between the two men – the task at hand was the main focus.

It wasn't a real interrogation, as they would have with a suspect, but the room offered more privacy for Will to discuss anything about Jj that might help with the case, so they'd agreed to do the interview there.

Upon seeing his son, Will stepped forward to kiss the boy's hair. Garcia couldn't help but notice the pain in the man's eyes, and how it seemed to ease the slightest bit when he saw the boy.

"Just a little while longer, Henry." The man murmured, before nodding his thanks to Garcia and stepping back.

Hotch would be the one to do the interview – even after what had happened between them, Hotch was the one who knew most about Anthony – he'd been there when she'd been taken, as well and had the best perspective. Morgan would be watching through the two way mirror, and the rest of the team – Rossi, Prentiss, and Reid – were going over the case yet again, trying to find any crack or crevice that they had missed and could still work their way into.

As Hotch entered the interrogation room with Will, Morgan turned on the camera that would record the conversation for reference, before turning to Garcia, who'd stepped closer to him.

"Hey." She said, all of her exhaustion carried in that one word – but it was full of hope, too.

"Hey yourself." He answered her, offering her a small smile, however fleeting that it was.

Through the window, they could see Hotch and Will shaking hands – and on camera, heard the apology between them. Will, for doing what he'd done, and Hotch for what he most likely perceived as still being his fault.

"Do you think…" She trailed off, holding Henry closer. She'd been about to ask 'if she's still alive' but found she hadn't been able to force the words out.

She was reminded, horrifically, of Tobias Henkel, the last person who'd taken one of their team away from them. The experience of watching Reid through the camera had been horrific – but somehow, this was worse. They didn't have concrete proof that she was alive – plus, she'd been shot.

"I don't know, baby girl." He responded. Morgan wasn't in the business of giving people false hope, but he couldn't stand to see how distraught she looked. "What I do know is that we're going to take every possible step to get her back."

--

Inside the interrogation room, Hotch faced Will. As he'd earlier told Prentiss, he wasn't holding any grudges against the man. The day was growing late, but there was no doubt that the team would be working through the night. Agent Todd would be arriving within the hour; she'd dropped what she'd been doing and got on a plane for her old friend.

"Again," Will continued as the two sat down. "I apologize – I wasn't myself back there." There was a certain amount of shame in his eyes.

"It's understandable." Hotch said. "But right now, I need us to focus on anything and everything that might help us find her…"

--

A half hour later, Will had taken Henry into his arms again. With all he could do done, his first priority became the young boy. He was staying at a hotel less than a mile away, and night had begun to fall. He'd need to get Henry to bed.

He faced Hotch, his face vulnerable. "You'll call me." He asked, holding his son close. "you'll call me as soon as you have the slightest idea?"

Hotch clasped a hand on the man's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "You have my word."

Morgan and Garcia watched silently as he left, holding his son, before Morgan turned questioning eyes on Hotch.

"Let's go join the team." Hotch said, his eyes resigned .

--

Raising his eyes from the geographical profile he'd been working with Prentiss, Reid was the first to see Hotch, Morgan, and Garcia entering the BAU's temporary headquarters.

"What did you learn?" He asked, his question causing the rest of the group – Prentiss, and Rossi (working the victimology) – to look up and taken note of the returning teammates.

"Nothing we don't already know." Hotch said. "She played soccer when she was young. She's a devoted mother. She's never had contact with the company Bennett worked at before this case."

"Then there's no plausible reason." Rossi said. "Besides her gender."

"I've begun to re-contact our list of people Bennett knew so we can re-interview them in regards to JJ." Garcia said, her voice breaking on the name. "The media's about to bang down our door, something leaked."

"Agent Todd should be here in less than ten minutes." Rossi said, having been the one to speak to her last. "And she'll have a press conference as soon as she arrives." He'd given her all of the case info over the phone. They'd be setting up a hotline – anyone who might have seen anything could call into the phone line.

Like Morgan had said, they were taking every possible step. Nothing was going to stop them from getting JJ back.

--

**Two Hours Later – Eleven Hours Since JJ Was Taken**

In the moments between when Bennett walked from the stairs leading into the garage and when he reached her, JJ used all of her remaining strength to brace her arms, pushing herself off of the ground. There was no time left for weakness.

Anthony Bennett smiled at her, and it was a sick, twisted smile. "Do you know what I just watched?" He goaded. There was a pride in his eyes that she hadn't seen before – it was extreme.

"Yourself in the mirror?" She hissed back, but the egotistical man barely seemed to notice – he was too gleeful at whatever it was he had. She knew how to work this – he wasn't going to kill her unless he saw her as broken, that she was scared of him, that she respected him.

He smiled again and touched her cheek. "Do you know that you mean nothing to them? They've already got a new one of you. I've seen her on the TV. She talked about me just like you did." He paused. He wasn't saying that she'd talked mostly about the woman in front of him, and not him – that had angered him. Another woman ignoring him, taking him for granted. And he intended to take it out on the one before him – she was the one whose eyes hadn't shown fear, even when she knew what he was. He needed to fix that.

JJ struggled to find an answer, but found that it didn't matter. Bennett continued. "Your friends couldn't even wait to replace you until they found a body." He sneered.

For a fleeting moment, she felt the sadness and hurt that he wanted her to feel. The irrational response scared her – she'd vowed not to let him get to her. She didn't like that she'd allowed him to, even for that small moment. Of course she knew that they hadn't actually replaced her – and, with a sudden fire in her heart, she knew exactly what it meant.

After nearly eleven hours, with what she was sure was no concrete proof of her continued existence, her team was looking for her. They must've held a press conference – the renewed hope burned in her chest.

"And she's just as good as you are, too." Bennett continued, but his voice was a sneer- saying that he didn't think either of them had done a good job.

"I'm sure she is.' JJ said, her voice's strength replenished by the momentary hope. "We only take in the best."

"Then they obviously overlooked that when they took you,." He said, leaning closer to her. "I wonder how your team and this Jordan Todd will feel when they finally find your body and realize that they replaced you before you were even dead." His emphasis was on the last word.

The words only brought a smile to her lips, however. Agent Todd- the woman she'd chosen herself. She occupied the moment with wondering who'd thought to call her – the thoughts of her team calmed the thirsty fire in her throat.

He suddenly gripped her jaw, roughly squeezing. "Answer me! Doesn't that bother you? You're replaced!"

She knew that she would regret her words as soon as she said them, because they would only bring infinite pain. But it was much better than death. She could recover from pain – just give the team long enough to find her. But she suddenly knew the thing to say that would show just how far he was from achieving his goal with her.

"I've worked cases with men like you." She said, feeling the sweat on her face from the fever. She wondered how much longer before it took over, but kept speaking non the less, showing her strong side to the man before her, a strong side she'd never realized she'd had. "You're all the same, did you know that? All cowards." Her eyes showed no fear. "All replaceable with one another."

--

TBC

Author's Note:

I hope that you guys enjoyed it. This was probably the longest chapter that I have – including the author's note, it will probably end up being two thousand words, and I typed it all in about ten minutes. (It was obviously already written out.) I wanted to give you guys the new chapter before I went to bed. My hands hurt pretty badly right now. I probably just gave myself carpal tunnel.

So … I'm a little less sure on this chapter. I'd love to hear from you guys on what you're thinking, if you think that this story is just completely boring and what not – any feedback that you could give would be wonderful.

All I ask if for, if you have the time, to please just click the button and review. I'm feeling all self doubting and I need the encouragement.

Or even if you hated the chapter. Tell me. Then I'll know I'm doing something wrong.

A lot of you have been asking for JJ to get back at Bennett big time – I hope you enjoyed the fact that she at least mentally got back at him. I do have most of the ending and exactly how it will work out planned out. Anyway, you can expect the next chapter sometime soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**_The Art of Butterflies_**

"Agent Todd, if you could begin calling the next set of people who knew Bennett that would be great. You'll probably be waking them up, but we don't have time for courtesy." Hotch said in passing to the woman, not having time to stop as he moved on to the already covered white board.

At 10:00 PM, it had been eleven hours since they'd last seen JJ. The darkness outside the window seemed to be teasing them – as if they were running blind, and after all these hours, Spencer Reid couldn't help but feel that was right.

In all truth, they knew everything about Anthony Bennett. They'd worked his case, even been close to closing it – but they were missing that piece. They were missing the piece that would tell them where he was keeping her. All evidence pointed to her simply vanishing and with no concrete proof that she was alive, the team were going to believe that she was until they saw that unthinkable sight.

Reid looked up from the file of the secretary Bennett had killed to see Agent Todd dialing the phone. When she'd arrived, there'd been no time for a real reunion – they'd all merely shook hands before Hotch had hustled her off for a media conference in which she'd helped set up the phone line that the police force of the town were now answering.

It hurt him deeply to know that his friend could be out there, alive, afraid, and in pain. He knew what kind of psychological torture it was to know that you were alone – that you couldn't be sure of anything, only fear what might come. He couldn't stand to know that she could be going through that.

It hurt worse to think she might be dead.

He couldn't help but feel they were missing something – he _knew_ they were missing something. She _hadn't_ been killed at the scene, and the rest of his victims had been. Reid knew the team was holding onto that fact. But if he'd taken her – _where? _That was the question that haunted them all. _Where was JJ_?

He looked down at the dead secretary's file again. Jane Wilson had been the only other secretary in the building, and the BAU thought, the catalyst for Bennett's actions. The puzzle piece missing was why he'd saved her for last. The BAU had inferred that he'd done so because he was smarter than they'd originally assumed – he knew he'd be caught. Wilson had been a constant source of antagonism fro Bennett – she'd been slated for promotion to a larger office as well, a job that Bennett himself had wanted. The killings had started around the time that the promotion had been announced – but still, he hadn't gone for her right away. He'd waited, he'd bidden his time. Wilson had only been twenty eight.

She'd lived alone.

He paused, his brain whirring. He almost didn't want to speak it – his heart pounded. Was it possible? Bennett wouldn't have the key – he could break in – had Wilson's key been found? Crime scene was done with her house – could that have gone unnoticed? Nobody was moving into Wilson's house right away …

"Uh…' He breathed. "Hotch?" His voice came out as a squeak. "Is Jane Wilson's house being watched?"

The file that the unit chief had picked up was placed back down immediately; he'd instead picked up the phone. "Reid, the address."

"212 Coralline Road."

"We need backup for 212 Coralline Road, one suspected hostage, residential area – nobody goes in until I give the command." Hotch had hung up the phone, but his team didn't even need the command – Morgan was already suiting up in a bullet proof vest, Rossi was placing his gun in its holster. Reid had jumped to his feet, grabbing Wilson's file in his hand, and Prentiss seemed to have gotten ready before anybody else even noticed, as if she'd always been ready, waiting for this moment.

It was only Agent Todd who didn't move, having lifted her eyes from the address book, a pen in one hand and a phone in the other. Her eyes met Hotch's a question living there.

"You're coming with us, Jordan." Hotch answered, slipping his own gun into its holster. If they were right about this, she wouldn't need to make phone calls. He spoke his next words, however, with what sounded curiously like regret, though his voice was that of strong, concrete certainty. "We don't know what he's done to her – she could be frightened of us. If that's true, we'll benefit from more than one woman presence."

_"Hotch_, you don't think-" Morgan asked, his face appalled.

"She wouldn't intentionally be frightened of us." He avoided Morgan's true question. "And I don't know what he's done to her, Morgan." The group was already moving out of headquarters and out of the building. "She'll be confused and weak." He continued. "No matter what he did to her, that's going to be true." It didn't' matter that Bennett was impotent – there were other ways of making JJ afraid.

"Point taken." Morgan answered, nodding to Hotch, who passed the younger agent a pair of keys.

"Rossi, Prentiss, with me." Hotch said as they burst out the glass doors and into the cool, dark night air. "Reid, Todd, with Morgan. Nobody goes in until I give the command."

--

It was almost immeasurable, the pain that she was in – she'd never felt anything like it. She'd been right that her remark wouldn't go unpunished. JJ knew without a doubt that she had a fever – she remembered when she was young and had the flu. This was worse.

It was worse because the flu had an end. The family doctor had given her a time frame. There would be no measured end to this hell, and she didn't want to play the waiting game.

No savior came to JJ's door that night…

**_TBC_**

**Author's Note: **

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter – and you can ponder what that last line means, though I'm sure most of you can figure it out. Sorry about that, to those who figured it out. **

**Also, I'd really like to thank everyone who managed to raise this chapter from 51 reviews to 71 reviews in a single chapter. I've never been happier – and a lot of you reassured me that the story was nowhere near boring, and I'd really like to thank all of you for that. **


	11. Chapter 11

**The Art of Butterflies**

The sedans, dark as the night that surrounded them, screeched to a halt outside the former home of Jane Wilson. There was no doubt that both cars had gone over the town speed limit in the ten minute drive to the small ranch house. There was no car in the driveway, and no garage attached to the house, but David Rossi knew that Bennett could have parked a car somewhere else. The senior profiler could see how the weight of this situation was pressing down on Aaron's shoulders. David didn't have a doubt that the man blamed himself for what had happened to JJ, and what was happening to her now. It was all he could do to hope that they found her in Wilson's home, both for her sake and the sanity of the entire team.

He was perhaps the one best in touch with their chances at finding JJ alive. He'd seen cases where woman had been taken – they didn't always end so well. To get a good ending for this … it was going to take a lot from the team, even if she was in the house before them. There were a thousand different ways that this could still go wrong, from Bennett's reaction to JJ's reaction to the condition that they might find her in.

Rossi wasn't being intentionally negative – he was merely realistic. He had to be. False hope that he held onto would come crashing down on him. He knew that. He'd seen too much, hoped for too many victims in peril only to see them perish. Rossi had to solely to do the job – do his absolute best to save the victims. Rossi knew that Hotch was doing that on normal cases – but now he was weighing the balance between this being a case like any other, and this being the case where a victim was a friend. He could see that balance in Hotch's eyes. It didn't mean that Rossi didn't feel what Hotch did – that threatening panic that wanted to engulf him if he let it, which was why he couldn't. He had to keep himself going.

The others, they had other ways of dealing with the situation, ways to cope.

Reid had facts – though Rossi knew that right now, they weren't serving him too well. His facts didn't match his innocent optimism right now. The youngest team member, however – Rossi could see it in his eyes that he knew entirely too well what she could be going through, not from facts, but experience.

Morgan was much like Hotch. He threw himself into the work, lost himself – he threw up his tough guy attitude and didn't let anyone see the world of hurt that lived inside.

Garcia filled herself with optimism and offered it to others as well. The optimism held back her tears and helped her continue going in the face of opposition. It was her own way of getting herself to cope: colorful optimism and remarks that got tougher to make with every passing minute.

Prentiss coped by following orders almost before they were told. She was constantly ready – as if by doing everything she could, she could singlehandedly get JJ back.

Hotch clicked off the safety on his gun, his dark eyes scanning the premises of the house. To anyone's eye, it looked abandoned, as one as its previous owner. A small, unnoticed piece of crime scene tape fluttered on the trunk of the huge oak in front of the house. He noticed the absence of a car, of lights, of any signs of life inside the house.

"Morgan, Todd – around the back of the house. Wait until I give the signal to go in." He didn't wait until his team was gathered around him; spoke instead to them as they finished gearing up. They didn't have time to waste. "Remember that he has a gun." He added, making sure he got the acknowledgement from both Todd and Morgan. He didn't need another team member shot. They couldn't afford it, he couldn't stand to see it. The two members began to make their way towards the back of the house. They'd wait for his signal over the earpiece.

"Dave, I need you around the side of the house as back up for Morgan – if Bennett's there and manages to run out, you'll need that secondary attack."

Rossi nodded his affirmation, the white stenciled letters on his vest standing out in stark contrast to the night that surrounded them.

"Prentiss," Hotch began, feeling an odd chill of familiarity. The last time that he'd been in a situation such as this one, JJ had been shot. This time, eleven hours later, he reminded himself, things were different – they were finding JJ. "You'll be with me." He saw her meet his eyes and nod before he took a deep breath and said the words into the earpiece that connected him with Morgan and Rossi, "On my count."

--

Would he be asleep? She didn't know. It had to be nighttime, didn't it? The temperature had dropped yet again and there was no light shining through the only small window in the garage. Or, she pondered, was that the fever? Was that the source of the constant cold that plagued her?

But Bennett hadn't been back since he'd told her of Todd. That was at least an hour ago, and if she was getting the times right – and she couldn't be sure in this – then it was nearly eleven hours since she'd been taken prisoner. And she didn't know how much longer she could survive with a fever. She wished she had Spence there, to tell her. She needed his facts right now, as scary as they were. She'd have something to hold on to then. She'd be able to tell herself how much longer she could survive like this.

She whimpered and curled in on herself, ignoring the stabbing pain that plagued her abdomen. She was the one on the team who'd always had the earliest hours and latest nights, except for Hotch – but she'd never been as tired as she was that moment. She slipped into a state of semi-consciousness, not knowing whether fever or exhaustion brought it on. She remembered, with shocking clarity, the smallest moments of her time at the BAU. She remembered the little things, the things that had kept her stable, wanting to continue at job where horrible things were a daily sight. She remembered covering Reid with a blanket … having the team meet Henry … New Orleans… all the things that, when not in the face of great adversary, would seem small, but in her job brought in the smallest amount of sunshine.

JJ had thought she'd known what strength meant. She'd thought that by seeing great strength, she'd known it.

But this – it was taking all of her strength, and she didn't know how much more that she had left. She hadn't known the true meaning of persevere until that moment.

She didn't know if she could.

But she had to, she remembered. She didn't know exactly why anymore – she just knew that she had to, and not only for herself. There were others, she remembered. There were others that she had to stay alive for.

She remained in the semi-conscious state for hours, her mind drifting, letting two hours pass. Midnight came and went without her acknowledgement of the new day.

And the team did not come.

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**The team's reactions to that will be in the next chapter, I promise you. And if the next chapter isn't up tomorrow, it will be up on Monday or Tuesday. I hope you enjoyed this one – 83 reviews, I absolutely love you guys. Thank you so much. **

**Sorry to all of you who thought they'd solved it – obviously can say now that they didn't, not yet. But hey, at least that means you'll get to hang out with me here for a little while longer. **


	12. Chapter 12

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"The light was frozen, dead, a ghost."

-Brave New World

They were distraught.

They'd been hoping she was in that house, that the nightmare of the past twelve hours would be over, done with. Throats had tightened as they sent away an un-needed ambulance and back up units. Eyes itched with tears of helplessness that they tried not to feel. They wanted to scream, to yell at the house that hadn't held JJ in its grasp, but they were on a deadline.

So they'd climbed back into the vans, somber, no words passed between them, and started back towards headquarters, at nearly half past twelve AM.

He realized that the tight feeling in his chest, and the anger that raced through his veins was his own fault. Despite his own laws of not letting himself believe she'd be inside 212 Coralline Road, David Rossi had somehow let hope slip past, and was no paying the price.

Sitting shotgun with Morgan driving, Rossi didn't say much of anything. His mind, however, was working at twice its normal speed. They'd missed something – where?

As he drove, Morgan repeatedly banged the heel of his hand into the steering wheel out of anger. His face was set as stone and his eyes were dangerous. The car was reaching dangerous speeds, but he didn't slow down. They didn't have time for sadness, or fear, or disappointment to show.

In the backseat of the car, Jordan Todd was on the phone, picking up where she'd left off. The young woman wished with a fierce guilt that she hadn't come along on this trip. An hour had been wasted, an hour where she could have been securing the interviews they needed.

Most of the people she called; she'd woken up, and most agreed to come in the morning. She couldn't get them any earlier – a few- a neighbor and a victim's brother – agreed to come by immediately. There was one that she couldn't get in touch with at all, nobody answered the phone. She assumed they were asleep.

She kept calling.

She remembered asking JJ what it was like, when she chose a case. If she didn't choose the right one, if another person died because she chose the wrong case, it all rested on her shoulders. She remembered that sudden feeling of weight when she'd picked up the first case file. She felt that panic now – after all the training that JJ had given her; she couldn't even make the right decision then. She should have stayed. She knew that now.

In a black SUV a few yards ahead, Aaron Hotchner's face was drawn. His brow was knit together as he drove forward with Reid riding shotgun. The younger agent kept apologizing over the wasted time and failed attempt. Eventually, Hotch quieted him with a simple, "Reid." He was driving at a speed that wasn't healthy for the car or the agents in it, but he paid no concern to that. "This isn't your fault. Stop apologizing and focus on the case." He didn't have time – JJ didn't have time – for apologies.

"Yeah." Reid said, shaking himself out of it. "Yeah, JJ needs us." He flipped open a file, murmuring things to himself as Hotch drove on.

Prentiss sat in the backseat of the SUV, one hand absently rubbing the back of her neck. She remembered, when mere months after she'd joined the BAU, Reid had been kidnapped by Tobias Henkle. JJ had asked how she was able to do the job without flinching – she'd said she was able to compartmentalize better than most people.

It wasn't entirely true.

She couldn't do this and box it away in her head. She was merely able to block it all away, to not show it, and overtime push it away. She'd had proof last time – Reid was undeniably still alive. All they had this time were assumptions, wishes, and hopes.

So she had to keep going. Because that was all they had. She couldn't leave, couldn't end this until she had proof. She refused to think JJ was dead.

They all did.

**15 Hours Since Capture: 2 AM**

A sob threatened to escape her lips, a real sob. She choked on it, forcing it down. Was she breaking? Was this it? She couldn't – what if she saw? Would he know, would he _feel _the very moment that she broke?

Her body shuddered, worn and hungry, against the achingly cold ground. The last time he'd come in, he'd tried again. Every part of her being knew she was tainted, even if he'd failed. Had she been doing something to make him want to try again?

_As long as you're alive_, she reminded herself. _Just stay alive. Don't let him break you_. She thought of Agent Todd from Counter Terrorism, joining the team again to help find her. Of course she wasn't being replaced – she knew that, she always had – but she hated that she'd allowed him to make her feel that, even for a second.

As she thought of the team, the need for sleep tugged at her. It whispered in her ears and begged her to join. Sleep was dark, peaceful. Some part of her, buried deep, reminded her that she wasn't supposed to sleep, that sleep would be a bad thing. She couldn't understand _why_ sleep could be such a bad thing. It was painless when you were asleep. _I'll wake up again_, she promised herself. _Just let me sleep_. She closed her eyes and felt a sigh rattle through her, felt the welcoming tug of unconsciousness. She was nearly there, almost in that pain-free place when the door to the garage slammed open, letting in cold, harsh light that intruded on her darkness, shattering it into a thousand irreparable pieces…

**Author's Note: **

**I know, I know – I'm so bad for not posting for nearly two weeks. I'm so so sorry. I got sick the day I wanted to post this and didn't write, and then I just haven't had the time- this chapters shorter than I intended it to be, but that just means you get the next chapter even sooner. I promise I won't leave you hanging for so long. Please review – I want to know I'm doing alright still with this story. **


	13. Chapter 13

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"You're not sleeping, are you?" His voice was a mixture between a laugh and a warning, one that managed to send painful shivers up her spine. He came closer into her view, blurry as it was. "If you sleep – well, you might not wake up. And then you'd take the pleasure of that away from me… you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Oh, nobody would want to take the pleasure from _you_." She said sarcastically, but her words sounded fuzzy. She saw anger flash in his eyes – maybe he'd thought he'd finally see what he was aiming for in her eyes. But, even as she could barely hold her head up, she wouldn't let that look cross her eyes. She wouldn't let him think she was broken, that she was afraid of and respected him, finally, like he'd made the other victims show him before they died.

"You're going to keep me up all night, aren't you?" Bennett asked, sarcastically. "I thought we might finish this and I could get some rest." He mock sighed and bent down closer to her – she could smell him, he used too much cologne…

"You _thought_ wrong." She managed, her neck feeling as if it might snap with the weight of her head.

He narrowed his eyes – and for the first time since he'd come into the room, she noticed he was holding something in his right hand – it was not until he held it inches from her eyes that she was able to detect it was a Styrofoam cup.

She could smell it.

It held too many things for her to process. There was the memory of herself at twelve, stealing a sip from her mother's cup before a soccer game. She remembered Reid putting way too much sugar in his. These were some of the memories that she'd held onto before, for when she needed them, and they came rushing back now. She remembered Prentiss nearly dropping hers on the floor when Morgan had scared her from behind. She remembered Hotch, who never seemed to need a refill.

Coffee.

Its smell was warm, encouraging, fantastic – and forbidden. Not only did she not know what it would do to her at this moment – but it was _him _offering it – he wanted her to drink it. If she did – would he see it as her giving in?

"You probably want to drink this…" He said, and she could hear the coffee slosh in the cup. "I won't be serving anything else." He placed it inches from her face. Bennett backed away then, his eyes still on her. She was no profiler, but she could detect his impatience. He was already acting out of his own norm by holding her for so long – who was to say he wasn't already devolving? Who was to say the coffee wasn't laced with something?

"I'll be back," he said, and his smile was sickening. "We'll continue then, and I will finish you, _Jennifer_." It was a promise, not a threat.

"My team will find you." She said to his back. Anthony Bennett paused in his tracks, nearly at the steps into the house. He didn't turn. "You will…" She paused, fighting exhaustion. "…regret the day you chose me. You … mess with one … you mess with … us all."

She hoped the words that she'd always believed would bring true – and soon – because she knew everyone had their breaking point.

She couldn't allow herself to find hers.

**BAU's Temporary Headquarters – Four AM **

"What I don't understand is why he chose her." Derek Morgan said as he went through footage of the last press conference JJ had made, looking for any glimpse of Bennett. Before they'd identified him as the UnSub, they'd logged him at one of the conferences. They looked now for any sign they might follow.

Rossi and Prentiss were conducting an interview with Bennett's neighbor – an elderly man who'd kindly agreed to come in at four in the morning. Reid, Morgan, and Hotch were in the main room, scouring through footage and files for any crack they could work their way into.

"I think we're looking at it." Reid said, leaning on Morgan's temporary desk, pointing to the current clip – a shot of JJ speaking to the media. "We know he felt emasculated by his job – the women he close all, in some way, were perceived as looking down on him. If he saw JJ giving a speech on not calling this man by any nickname, that he was just human – talking about him as he always saw himself – it may have triggered him." Reid said. "He wants respect – she's not giving him the kind he wanted. She didn't appear fearful." He was taking clues from the file, the case, the conference, making an educated guess – but he had no idea exactly how close he was to the truth, he couldn't have any idea how close he was.

"He took her because he didn't like the press conference?" Morgan asked, incredulous.

"It's the only connection to him she has." Reid answered. His eyes itched with tiredness and he took a sip of his coffee.

"I think Reid's right." Hotch said. "She has no other connection. If he only saw her for the first time at the warehouse, I don't think he would have kept her."

In Penelope Garcia's temporary office, Agent Todd continued making phone calls – another press conference was scheduled for five AM, with increased security – but Hotch doubted Bennett would show his face at this one. He was not stupid.

Morgan ran his hand over his head, clearly frustrated – they'd been going for nearly forty eight hours straight – since first on the chase for Bennett, to JJ's capture, until then – and none of the team had plans to sleep. Since arriving at the headquarters hours earlier, they'd been working non-stop. They'd barely felt the hours pass, they were passing too quickly with no results. Sheriffs came and went – calls from the hot line fielded – but no actual tips had been able to be worked. They had officers scouring the streets as well – looking for something that none of them would admit to – a dumping site.

"I can't help but feel like we're getting nowhere." Morgan said, his teeth gritted. "We can't get the step ahead."

"This stuff – Morgan, it takes time." Hotch said, but both Reid and Morgan could hear the tension in his voice – hiding the same feeling that Morgan was explaining then. "We're going as fast as we can." He nodded, once. "Keep going."

Reid's eyes checked the clock – it was nearing four thirty. How long could JJ hold out? What conditions had this man put her in? He knew she was strong – but nobody could survive starvation, nobody could survive hypothermia or stabbings, as he'd done to his other victims. He pushed his hair back, tired eyes focusing on the screen.

How long could someone survive without any hope? Did she have hope? Did she know that they were looking for her, that they wouldn't give up?

He hoped she did. God, he hoped she did.

It was all that had kept him going when he'd been kidnapped.

He was still in that mental place when the phone rang – he startled, fumbling for his own, but realizing a second later that it was Morgan's. Hotch paused, a remote in his hand for one of the screens that they were viewing profiles on, his eyes now on Morgan, who lifted the phone tentatively to his ear.

"Garcia?" There were no cute greetings – not when they were working on this timeline.

"Morgan," She said, and she sounded unsure. He could hear a rustling in the background. "Look, this could be nothing, but Todd pointed it out, and I told her that we needed to mention it. It's definitely probably nothing…" She trailed off, realizing that she was babbling.

His heart jumped. "Garcia, it could still be something. What is it?"

"She was calling – " There was more rustling in the background. "all of the people that we need to interview. Now, I know it's early – but everybody else answered their phones despite the times, because we told them they needed to be on call – only one person didn't answer, and she's still not answering so I told her that we needed to-"

"His _boss_, Morgan. Robin Briggs. She hasn't answered her phone."

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**See, I promised another update soon! I think that it's only been two days since the last update. **

**Also, about the ending – sorry for the cliffhanger! **

**I'm glad to hear that you guys liked the last chapter – I hope that I'll be able to say that for this chapter as well. Opinions? **

**Now, have you ever heard the term starving artist? This is called the starving fanfictinist. Because I am quite hungry. (For both food, and reviews.) **


	14. Chapter 14

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free."

-Charles Dickens

He could feel the blood drain from his face. Silently, Derek Morgan pressed 'speaker phone', and placed the silver cell phone down on the fake wooden desk. "Tell them what you just told me, Penelope." He said, leaning his forearms against the desk. "You're on speaker phone."

Hotch had turned away from the white board and come towards the desk, hovering over it. He'd put his gun in its holster. Reid, once leaning against the desk, was now standing straight, alert. Across the TV screen, tuned to the local news, a reporter spoke of the recent killings, how an agent gone missing was thought connected. The hot line number flashed across the bottom of the screen, but nobody in the BAU was paying note. Every mind was on the phone Morgan had placed on his desk.

"There's only one person who hasn't answered her phone, sir." Garcia spoke quickly. "Her name is Robin Briggs. She was Bennett's boss."

Hotch's blood ran cold.

"She could be sleeping, sir. But she's the only one not answering and we told everyone to be on call."

"I need a trace on that phone."

He heard the sound of fast passed typing. "If it's on, I'll have it." She sounded more sure than she'd sounded all day, in her element. "I'll also get any paper trail that she's had in the past forty eight. If she's on the grid, sir, I'll have her. You don't think he'd _take_ her, do you?" Her voice suggested that she already knew what his answer would be.

"What's Brigg's home address?"

"3 Samuel Court." She'd been ready for that one. "About ten miles from here, sir."

"Put Agent Todd on." He told her, and heard a shuffling of the phone being handed over.

"Agent Hotchner." She said. "I should have spoken sooner – I didn't think much of it, I Figured she was sleeping. It's four thirty in the morning and-"

"Agent Todd." He said, cutting her off. It wasn't that he held her responsible – they just didn't have the time. "You'll stay here for the press conference. It's four forty now. Give the same information we talked about. If there are any changes, we'll call."

"Got it." She said to her temporary boss, still feeling terribly guilty. That was two mistakes, in one day – and it might cost two people their lives. More shuffling could be heard as the phone was handed back to the technical analyst.

"I'm running the trace. There doesn't seem to be a signal, sir. I think the phones off, but I'm running the paper trail as well and I'll let you know if I have anything at all. And sir?'

"Yes, Garcia?"

"Find JJ." There was a click as she ended the call. Morgan reached over and snapped his phone shut.

"Dial Prentiss." Hotch said. "And take her place in the interview. I need a woman in on this one." He said to Morgan, who nodded, even though he wished that he was able to jump in on it – he felt helpless here, but understood why Hotch was doing what he was doing. "Reid. I need your brain on this one. Are you good to go?"

He swallowed nervously. "Yeah."

Morgan had dialed Prentiss and was speaking rapidly into the phone. Hotch was placing his second gun into its holster.

"Reid, Prentiss, and myself will check out 3 Samuel Court. I don't know what we're going to find. _If _it happens that she's still there, we'll bring her back here." There was no response – they were resigned to the fact that she was, at the very least, not at her home. Protocol required them to check it out, however, if she wasn't answering her phone, seeing that it was suspected she'd been abducted. "If she's not there, we'll head back here and …"

"Be back to square one." Prentiss said, her eyes hard as she entered the room, catching the tail end of the conversation. She was ready to go, a wind breaker worn over her shoulders.

It was a case of pros and cons. If they were to find Robin Briggs safe in her home, while they would undeniably be glad that there were no more kidnappings, it would also mean they still had no leads. New kidnappings meant more evidence, new leads, more traces … and if she wasn't at home, someone else had been kidnapped. Would that mean JJ was dead? Hotch could barely dare to think of it; he'd hold himself responsible for the remainder of his life.

--

_Resilience_.

She held the remainder of it close to her, what little of it she had left. The cup of coffee sat in front of her. With a jutted jaw and narrowed eyes, she shifted on the cold ground, ignoring any and all pain it caused. One more shift, and she'd have it…

Jennifer Jareau butted the top of her head against the cup of coffee, spilling its now cold contents to the ground. She watched as they trickled away from her, making tiny rivulets away from her.

It was all she needed to keep going; it was an act of defiance. The smell was stronger now, but it had sat with her for such a long time that it now revolted her.

When she was young, she would stare at them. To her mother and father, it was inexplicable. At three years old, she would lie in her mother's garden and watch them: the butterflies. For hours she'd lie in wait for one to land its dainty feet on her skin. To them, it was a puzzle. To her, it was nature. She didn't quite understand her own fascination, even as she grew older. Her eyes would track them, glued to flashing colors.

It wasn't until she was nearly twelve that she understood. The understanding had come with a soccer game, running full-tilt. A single butterfly had fluttered past her view, and she'd understood herself more fully than she ever had in her life.

She was fascinated with them because they were _free_. It wasn't the colors. It wasn't their feet, dainty and tickling when they landed on her skin.

It was their flight. Their flight was what freed them. Where she was tethered, butterflies were not.

Soccer was the closest she could come to this.

For the rest of her adolescence, she felt as if she were grasping at running water and watching it run through her hands, her fingers unable to contain it.

She collected them because she'd always wondered what it felt like to be so free. She wanted to know their secrets. She wanted to know their art.

**TBC**

Author's Note:

Well, there's your summary quote. I've been anticipating dropping it on you guys. I hope you enjoyed/understood the explanation of her love for both soccer and the butterflies. Don't worry, we're not over yet. (Obviously.)

Opinions?


	15. Chapter 15

**The Art of Butterflies**

The smallest amount of light penetrated the night sky in anticipation of the coming dawn. The three members of the BAU – Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid – exited their temporary headquarters in the heart of D.C. at 4:45 AM. Morgan had switched with Prentiss, though the interview was coming to an end. Nothing more could be learned from the elderly neighbor. Their hopes rested now on Robin Briggs and 3 Samuel Court.

"Prentiss and I will go around the front of the house." Hotch announced, opening the driver's seat of the dark SUV waiting in front of the police station and slipping in. Prentiss opened the passenger's side door and Reid sat in the backseat. "Reid, take the back of the house." He didn't enjoy the fact that he was sending Reid alone, but didn't have another choice – they needed the rest of the team at headquarters, and he also wanted a woman at the front of the house. He was only sending Reid around the back in case Bennett had indeed taken Briggs, and happened to still be there. Hotch already feared they were wasting time – but if it proved that they weren't, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

The Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit started the engine of the SUV and pulled out of the parking spot, his dark eyes on the road ahead of him. "Ten miles to 3 Samuel Court." Hotch said, tension in his voice. Those ten miles seemed like one thousand, too long for the time frame they were running under. "Reid, do you have the directions?"

The young man in the backseat nodded, quickly rattling them off. His heart was pounding somewhere near his throat. If they were right about this - if Briggs had indeed been taken - they were one step closer to catching Bennett. They could trace him from her house. If she hadn't been taken ... his thoughts trailed off. Much as Hotch had been thinking before, it was a game of pros and cons.

Who was to say that if he'd taken Briggs, he wouldn't kill JJ?

Reid swallowed convulsively, trying not to think that way as the car continued. They were nearly exiting the heart of the town now, heading towards the out-skirts. Robin Brigg's house wasn't in a poor neighborhood; she did not live in the high end part of town, either, even though she could afford to if she wished. Reid immediatly began profiling her in his head - she seemed to him a modest woman, a woman of power in her job ... exactly the kind of woman Bennett would take note of.

Hotch was breaking the speed limit, but neither Agent in the car said anything of it. In a twenty five mile speed zone, they were doing at least forty. Reid had no doubt that as they got further from the center of town, they would be driving even faster. They'd be doing the same if they were driving. At 4:50 AM, there weren't that many people on the road - a few early risers heading to work and night-workers coming home for the day, but the streets were nowhere near as busy as they usually were.

"We didn't learn much from the neighbor." Prentiss spoke, turning her head towards Hotch. "Nothing that we didn't already know. We have a brother of a victim coming in at seven, but ..." She trailed off, her eyes finding the passing streets. She didn't want to say what she'd been thinking - that at seven am, it might already be too late. Especially if Briggs was a replacement. Dark eyes watched the streets of her home town go by.

Hotch took a turn at an alarming speed, but still had amazing control of the barely managed to avoid squeeling in alarm - he had no doubt that Hotch wouldn't put them in danger, but it didn't help his heart rate or blood pressure when Hotch pressed his foot down on the gas even further. He saw that the Unit Cheif's knuckles were bone white on the steering wheel. Reid bit down on his lip, the streets going by in a blur. They had to already be halfway there - they'd been driving for at least three or four minutes. Ten miles had never felt so long to him before, and he wished that it was scientifically possible to speed up time.

On the dashboard, Hotch's cell phone vibrated. Prentiss' hand leapt forward, seemingly of her own accord, and her heart leapt into her throat. The caller ID flashed Garcia's number. Was it possible that she was calling to tell them they'd found JJ? The thought crossed the three profiler's minds for only a moment, before they each pushed away the false hope, and Prentiss pressed the green 'answer' button.

"Garcia." She answered shortly. "It's Prentiss." The dark haired woman could feel Reid leaning forward in the back seat of the car, attempting to listen to the call. She could feel Hotch watching her out of the corner of his eye. In response, she pressed 'speaker phone' and placed it back on the dashboard. "You're on speaker phone, Garcia."

The emotions of the voice on the other end of the phone did not match the words it spoke. She should be glad, Prentiss thought immediatly, but her voice sounded reserved. "We've got a trace on Brigg's phone..."

--

The eccentrically dressed woman - she hadn't had the chance to change since JJ's abuction so many hours before - spoke into the phone, her nearly shaking hands dancing over the keyboard as she did. "We've got a trace on Briggs' phone..." She swalllowed. "The phone is at 212 Horseshoe Drive."

"Who's adress is that, Garcia?" Prentiss asked, interupting Garcia, who'd nearly begun to tell her.

"The house belongs to Shelby Briggs - Robin's sister." In the background, she could hear the air leave one of the three of them in a woosh. "I've already made contact through the sisters home phone - the phone was on silent. She'd had plans to go to her sisters house weeks in advance - wanted to see her neice and nephew. That's why she's not at the house. We're bringing her in for an interview." She paused, listening. "Sir?"

"Thank you, Garcia." The Unit Cheif's voice was formal, and resigned. "We'll see you back at headquarters." He hung up the line, abruptly, leaving Penelope Garcia to stare at the computer screen, fighting back tears. Blue eyes found their way to one of the framed pictures she always brought along on cases she was traveling for - her, Prentiss, and JJ on a girl's night out.

"Come on, Jayje." She whispered. "Fight."

--

Aaron Hotchner's mouth had formed into a hard line, his eyes set on the road. Each agent was again resigned. Any hope this expedition had managed to foster for another lead had been crushed. Hotch tried to believe he hadn't been hoping another woman was kidnapped - _but we would have found her_. He told himself again. Now, as Prentiss had said earlier, they were back to square one. He'd turned the car around, heading back towards the station. His eyes lit on the digital nubmers of the LED clock - 4:58 AM. Agent Todd would be beginning her second press conference in a matter of minutes.

"We need someone to call Will around 6:00 - let him know any events." Hotch didn't particularly want someone to have to tell JJ's fiance that there was no good news so far, but they were obliged to do so. Reid was pecurily silent in the back of the car, but Prentiss nodded once.

"I'll call." She was still surprised that what had occured between the FBI agent and former New Orleans detective had been put behind them so quickly.

It was then that Reid shouted, his high pitched cry causing Prentiss to gasp out loud. "Stop!" He called out. Hotch slammed on the breaks, pulling the SUV to the side of the road.

"Reid?" He inquired, turning in his seat to look in the back of the car.

"Weeks in advance!" He babbled. His eyes were lit up with a light they hadn't seen since the beginning of this case. "Robin Briggs had planned her visit to her sister _weeks_ in advance, Hotch! She must have taken the day off, it'd be documented! Weeks ago!"

"I'm not sure that I follow..." His words dropped off as his mind caught on.

"He was the secretary. He'd know she wasn't working - he probably knew where she was going as well, gossip travels around offices ..." Reid spoke quickly. "What if we had it right with Jane, but we had the person and house wrong?"

Hotch put the car back into gear, but Prentiss was still confused. "The wrong person and house?"

"I think I know where he's got JJ." Reid said. "Three Samuel Court. He's not using his house or Jane's house..." He swallowed nervously, looking to Hotch.

"We think he's using Robin Brigg's."

Hotch spun the SUV back towards 3 Samuel Court, and the clock ticked on.

5:02 AM...

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**Not too sure on this one... opinons? Reviews? I hope you're still enjoying it. Yes, I know the cliffhanger is evil. If you weren't sure of what just happened in that last part of the chapter, here's an explanation: **

**Robin Briggs planned to go to her sisters house weeks in advance, just before the killings with Bennett began. At that time, she didn't know it was Bennett. He was still her secretary, and had her documented as taking a day off. He knew that she wouldn't be sleeping at her own house through people talking in the office, conversations and stuff that he listened in on. The BAU thinks he's using her house to hold JJ. **


	16. Chapter 16

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"You poor sweet innocent thing.  
Dry your eyes and testify.  
You know you live to break me. Don't deny.  
Sweet sacrifice."

-Sweet Sacrifice, Evanescence

5:03 AM…

Tears sprung from the liaison's eyes as the door to the garage opened again. The tears were involuntary, and they horrified her. The young woman had no way of drying them before Bennett would see her. The cold had seeped into her bones, nestled in the pit of her stomach. JJ coughed, trying to distill it, but it did nothing besides cause her wound to contact painfully.

He was silent in voice. Only his footsteps warned her of his approach. He was a snake, a predator, and she feared him. She had feared him all along. It was impossible not to feel some fear towards a man that had committed the acts he did. The difference had been her refusal to show it. Her tears proved her fear of him. Her ability to pretend was nearly drained. He was a coward, but she feared him.

Bennett came closer, bent down before her, and she shivered. Her tied hands tightened convulsively, and she closed her eyes. She didn't want to see his dark eyes, gloating at his victory.

JJ felt his hand at her hair. Painful shivers ran through her tired frame. "It didn't even take a day." He murmured. She shut her eyes tighter. JJ wondered if when it was all over, she would be like the butterflies – free, un-tethered, beautiful and flying, instead of filthy, scared, alone. She'd fly in thousands in the field of butterflies.

She wondered if she would see her son again, someday. The thought made her throat constrict painfully. She knew, though, that will would not fail in taking care of their young son. Garcia and Prentiss wouldn't let him grow up without a mother – they'd be her substitutes.

And she smiled, resigned to her fate.

She regretted not being able to fight, but she did not fear the end. She'd tried so hard. She couldn't try any longer.

So she opened her eyes, and looked into his, a final act of defiance. JJ saw the shock in his eyes when he saw the truth in hers: though broken, she was not _beaten_. He'd won the battle, but not the war: never the war. She might feel filthy, worthless, broken – but at the same time, she was, in realization of her own death, _proud_.

He'd broken the wings, but not the bird.

In death, this knowledge was hers.

"Get up." He hissed. Shock ran cold through her blood. "C'mon, up!" His cold, rough hands yanked her to her feet. She stumbled, her hands still tied behind her back.

All that knowledge she'd had fled from her. She was on her feet: she hadn't expected that. Seconds from accepting her death, Jennifer Jareau learned to fight again.

And had the will to do so.

_I am Jennifer Jareau and I won't let you break me_.

As Bennett pulled her closer, she brought her knee up and caught him where it would hurt. She didn't see the shock and pain in his eyes as he went down. Adrenaline ran through her veins, blue eyes alight. She was off balance with her hands behind her back, but he feet were free and she used them. Three times her sneakered foot connected with his head while he was down, holding himself and howling words she didn't hear. His head was a figurative soccer ball. His howling silenced on the third kick, his dark eyes rolling back. The criminal's body crashed backwards, his head connecting to the cement with a thud.

Her own eyes rolled. She was gasping for air. Her body stumbled backwards. JJ's cry was stifled by her own realization of the gunshot wound on her side, bleeding again. The adrenaline was leaving her body. She'd done something impossible, and it was catching up with her. Her breath came painfully at an alarming rate.

The liaison stumbled one final time before she flew forward, her shoulder connecting with the ground.

The pain did not have time to connect with her before she blacked out.

5:09 AM…

Hardly a thousand feet from where she lay, the doors to a black SUV slammed shut.

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**Okay, so someone is going to kill me for that cliffhanger. No more tricks, guys! The next chapter will be up ASAP. **

**I would like to note: **

**In the beginnings of these chapters, someone left me a review. Foxyfeline, actually. Don't' know if she's still reading, but she told JJ to kick him where it hurt. Blairsey as well. **

**Well, **_**there you go**_**. I'd planned for her to do that all along: just couldn't tell you back then, could I? :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**_The Art of Butterflies_**

"In the arms of the angel  
fly away from here  
from this dark cold hotel room  
and the endlessness that you fear  
you are pulled from the wreckage  
of your silent reverie  
you're in the arms of the angel  
may you find some comfort here  
you're in the arms of the angel  
may you find some comfort here."

-Angel, Sarah McLachlan

5:09 AM…

When the black SUV pulled up in front of the two story house, it was all they could do to remain in their seats until Hotch stopped the vehicle. More light had now threaded through the horizon, turning the night skies from onyx to the darkest of grays.

Hotch surveyed the scene upon stepping out of the car. Prentiss and Reid immediately followed suit. Though the head of the BAU wanted nothing more than to burst through the door of the two story house before them, he knew that he could not. He was close to the victim, and a move based on that could compromise the entire situation. He shoved his back-up gun into its holster, dark eyes scanning the landscape, pondering the best way to go about the situation, the best plan of action.. He would have liked to have reasonable suspicion for breaking and entering – at least evidence that would hold up in court. They did not have the time to look for any.

"Reid, around back. Prentiss, with me." He ordered, speaking quickly.

Reid jogged up next to the Unit Chief, brown hair in a mess around his head. Hotch noticed how the young genius' bright eyes widened in alarm when he looked towards the driveway ahead of them.

He felt his breath catch in his throat.

Blood. Splatters of it ran down the driveway.

It was almost as if someone had been carried.

His eyes followed the trail forward, his feet beginning to move as if of their own accord. The trail changed from splatters to drops – if someone hadn't been looking for it, they wouldn't have noticed the trail of blood on the driveway.

Just as quickly as his feet were moving, he was jogging forward, his hand resting on his gun. In the early hours of the morning, he felt closer to finding her than they ever had before – and he also feared that they were too late. The drops led to the door of the two car garage, where they stopped abruptly. Reid and Prentiss flanked him, his earlier orders abandoned.

Both agents had their guns drawn; their breath was forcibly steadied so that their hands would not shake.

"Anthony Bennett, FBI! Come out with your hands up!" Hotch shouted into the garage door. There was no answer from the inside: silence answered Hotch, speaking louder than any words could have.

Hotch stepped back and aimed his gun at the lock on the garage door. He fired twice; the lock popped off with a hollow metallic sound. The smell of gunpowder and scorched metal filled the air.

Prentiss threw the garage door open. It seemed to take forever for the white one window door to scroll up, the hinges clinking, and reveal its occupants, but when she looked back on it all, Emily Prentiss would hardly remember opening the garage door at all.

The garage was dark, but just enough light filtered through to make vision possible. The walls had several shelves adjoined. Oil marks and blood stains littered the floor, but there was no car. In the far corner, three white cement steps led to a painted white wooden door, cracked open – the source of the artificial light.

But they noticed none of this.

Because, to one side of the room, their missing liaison lay on her side, blonde hair splayed about her face.

Just a few feet from her, Anthony Bennett lay unconscious on his back.

Prentiss' heart fell to her knees, and then immediately jumped back into her throat. "Oh God, _Jayje_." Prentiss murmured. Hotch was already rushing forward towards the fallen agent. Reid was rendered temporarily immobile before he too began to rush forward.

There was something about seeing her after all this time that was a relief, even in the condition that she was in. There was nothing quite equivalent to finally catching sight of her. After a time of not letting themselves imagine all the possible things, not letting themselves see the outcomes or think of her as gone – to see that she _was alive_ was more than relief; it was life itself.

The dark haired man knelt by her side, the side she was facing. Bennett was still in his view. The young liaison's eyes were closed, her hands tied behind her back with fraying rope. Purpling bruises marred the skin there, as if she'd pulled ceaselessly without luck. Dark bruises ran across the planes of her face, leaving mere inches of skin untouched. Her clothes were torn – nearly shredded- and were bloody as well. An entire piece of her shirt was missing near the place where she'd been shot; a dirty white cloth covered the gunshot wound. It bled now, though Hotch assumed the flow had once been stemmed. There was dark brown where the blood had dried, bright red was blooming on the side.

"JJ." He asked of her softly. He stroked her hair back from her face, but she didn't respond.

Prentiss did not need instruction; she'd gone towards Bennett's unconscious form. Two fingers pressed to the killer's neck, she called out in a tone that was almost regretful; "He's alive, Hotch.", and cuffed the now groaning man's arms behind his back. She left him incapable of movement and joined Hotch and Reid. Bennett was still in their view; the man was mumbling something incoherently before slipping into unconsciousness again; JJ had done a number on him.

Hotch pressed his fingers to her neck. "Her pulse is erratic." He said, placing the back of his hand against her forehead. She was hot to the touch. "JJ, its Hotch." The dark haired man rubbed her back gently. "Open your eyes for me. Come on." He tapped a non-marred area of her cheek with a finger. "Open your eyes."

JJ moaned and her eyelids fluttered. Her moan quickly turned to a whimper, crushing each agent's heart. Her eyelids fluttered, revealing the molten blue beneath. They were pained.

"Jayje, sweetheart, talk to me." Prentiss said. She watched as her friend's dazed eyes struggled to focus. "Come on, that's it."

"G'me…" Her words were slurred. "Me out 'here."

"We're trying, JJ." Prentiss assured her, locking eyes with Reid, who seemed at a loss for words. "There's already an ambulance on its way."

The injured woman slowly came around, her breathing quickening. Her blue eyes danced from object to object in the room. Memories came back, painful like the blade of a knife pressing against her skin. She'd kicked him, she remembered, and he'd gone down, but memories faded after that … "B-Bennett." Her teeth chattered.

"He's cuffed." Reid spoke up quickly and saw her eyes jump to him. "He can't hurt you anymore, I promise."

"Will?" She asked.

"We'll call him as soon as the ambulance gets here, Jayje." Prentiss assured her, and was surprised to see her shake her head against the cold ground.

"He – not like this." Her voice was panicked. "Let me … be okay first." Her words were heartbreaking and Prentiss planned to address it as soon as possible – but she couldn't stand to put her friend though that, not when she was already so much in pain. She figured it had something to do with whatever Bennett had done to her, and her jaw clenched in anger. She'd see to it herself that he went away for a very long time – they all would.

"Alright," Prentiss told her. "Don't worry." Her face relaxed considerably, confirming Prentiss' earlier consumption. They'd all seen the victims of cases like these – and they sometimes felt this way, unfit for the ones that loved them most.

Hotch slipped around behind the unconscious woman to her bound hands. Gently, he tugged a switchblade beneath the role that bound them, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly; noticing the way her face had drawn tight and her body had tensed when he'd started to move the rope. "I'm sorry." He apologized, still working. "What am I hurting?"

She shuddered, trying to get over the fear that he was there to harm her. She'd only known pain in this room, and while she trusted Hotch with her life, she couldn't get over the preconception that only pain could come from here. Her entire body hurt – it was hard to pinpoint what exactly hard flared up when he'd touched her hands. She almost gave up trying to decipher it. "My shoulder," She gasped finally, her eyes tearing. She suddenly felt desperate, weak and needy, something she'd been trying not to feel since Bennett had taken her. She tried to tell herself that he couldn't hurt her, that she could allow herself to feel – but somehow, she couldn't fully convince herself of that. "Dislocated." She felt her heart race and knew it was from her fever. Her face pinched tight. "I…" She felt her hands go free and whimpered, the pain in her shoulder peaking. She still couldn't consider letting Will see her, not yet – she felt _wrong_. Somewhere in her conscious, as she had before, she knew that it wouldn't matter to him – that there was nothing wrong with her, that there'd been something wrong with Bennett for making him do everything he'd done to her – but there was a block in her mind that she couldn't get past, one that told her that it would matter. She could still feel his hands, lingering on her.

Her cheek was still pressed to the cold cement but her hands were now free: Hotch tossed the cut rope aside. "I need you to relax for me." His voice wasn't as gruff as it usually was: it was soothing, nearly the voice he used with victims. It wasn't exact – he couldn't do that, couldn't see her that way.

"I'm going to turn you on your back." He told her, and her muscles tightened. 'I know, I'm sorry." He saw her nod, closing her eyes. Slowly, he rolled her onto her back. The Unit Chief felt every one of her muscles tense.

In a moment that he would no doubt feel guilt for for quite awhile, he rested both of his hands on either side of her shoulders. He didn't warn her – but she realized all the same. Her lips moved to form a word she wouldn't have the chance to speak before he popped her shoulder back into place. The word turned into a sharp cry.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, rubbing her shoulder quickly. He could hear the approach of the ambulance in the distance. Her breathing was coming quicker, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Again Hotch was reminded of nearly twenty four hours ago, on the floor of the warehouse. "You're doing so well. I'm proud of you."

"We all are." Reid said. He was barely able to look at her; she looked so utterly _broken_. The young genius looked back on the Redskins game and how alive she'd seemed that day. Bennett had dared to rob the woman before him of that vitality? His blood boiled at the thought of it. It was beyond comprehension. Tentatively, he reached forward a hand and stroked her hair; she flinched visibly. "JJ, whatever he said to you? It's not true." He felt the breath still in his throat at the terror in her eyes. The socially awkward young man felt the words form easily now on his lips. "You are one of the stronger, most compassionate women I have ever met. You're the most _human_ of all of us, JJ. He can't take that from you, no matter what he did."

A shiver ran down her body. "Spence, 'm tired." The slurred words were an admission. There were tears in Prentiss' eyes and Hotch's smile was sad. He could hear the ambulance approaching in front of the house.

"I know." He freed her hair from beneath her shoulders.

Looking at them, she knew how implicitly she could trust them, all of them. Her words were barely spoken. She sounded like a young child. "Can…" Her voice cracked. "Can I be broken now?"

**Author's Note: **

**It's not over yet! There are a few more chapters to come, if you'd like them, of course. I plan to go into her recovery. Also, with Will – she doesn't want to see him because she feels that there must be something wrong with her for Bennett to have done everything to her. With the team, she doesn't feel that, partially because they obviously don't have a romantic relationship with her and because she's known them longer. In that way, _yes_, I believe she trusts the team more than she trusts Will, in different ways, of course. **

**Oh, and her sentence, "Can I be broken now?" was asking if she was allowed to be broken, where she couldn't allow herself to be in front of Bennett. **

**_That _****all being said, there's something _else_ that needs to be said. **

**(Long author's note, sorry. But important one, since I need to tell you guys something. –wink-)**

**All of you: every single one of you – _are awesome_. I can't believe how many reviews I got: I nearly cried. It was knowing that a lot of you are enjoying the story that did it. I got nearly twenty reviews for the chapter. I honestly couldn't believe it. During a time when I definitely _needed_ that, you brought it. I couldn't possibly ask for better readers than the ones I have. I tried to respond to every one of you, and I try to do so every single time. **

**You made me feel like an author. I really, really want to thank you for that. You can't possibly know how much it means to me. It can't be described with words. **

**Also,**

**There's a trailer for this on youtube. I made it myself; if someone wants to make a trailer for this, I'd love them _forever_. **

**There's also a poll on my page. **

**Please, please please review. You guys are awesome, once again. I hope you're still enjoying this. This chapter is dedicated to each and every one of you. **


	18. Chapter 18

_**$The Art of Butterflies**_

"Rossi, it's Prentiss." The dark haired profiler said into the phone. Brighter than the nearly rising sun were the flashing lights of the ambulance, red and blue. The phone pressed against her ear was warm against the chilled air. For the first time, she noticed how her eyes were burning in exhaustion, and that her hands were shaking.

"Where the _hell_ have you guys been?" Rossi reacted before she could get any further in her explanation. "It's past five thirty in the morning and you were due back nearly a _half hour_ ago. We've already got one agent missing, we can't afford three more!" She'd known he'd blow up like this – they had, after all, not had time to tell them their whereabouts in the rush towards the house. Prentiss detected the horror in his voice, barely masked by the anger and sense of duty in Hotch's absence.

Hotch stood by the ambulance door as two EMTs loaded JJ into it. The Unit Chief turned back to look at her, and she caught the expression on his face: determined, relieved, and weary. His attempt to keep his emotions under wraps failed on her and most of the profilers on the team.

"Rossi." She tried again. Her voice was considerably calmer; her words were spoken in a tone that said _listen. _This time she heard someone else in the background – Morgan, she assumed, and possibly Agent Todd. "We've _got her_, Rossi." In those words, her voice changed completely – from the _listen to me_ tone to a tone of voice she hardly used. Her words were tears come to life. "We have JJ." This time her voice was a cry of relief, a cry of happiness.

"Guys!" Rossi's shout was a distance away from the phone. In the background, Prentiss heard a clatter and when she spoke again, her voice held more of an echo. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Yeah, Emily." Morgan spoke over the connection, but he sounded far away to her ears. "You're on speaker with Rossi and me. Todd's finishing up with the press." His explanation was spoken quickly.

"Get Garcia on the line." She asked of them, and there was the noise of dialing numbers, the click of a connecting line.

"Hello?" Garcia's greeting was nothing like her old one, the fire that made her so unique. She sounded tired, exhausted; they all were.

"We've got her." Prentiss said again, her voice cracked in the middle of her sentence. "And we've got Bennett, too." Her dark eyes found the second ambulance that had been called; their captured criminal was being loaded into it. When she spoke, there was an amazed laugh in her voice. "She took him down. Somehow, I don't know, but she did. He was unconscious when we got here."

'Where's _here_, Prentiss?" Morgan asked. She could imagine how he was leaning over the phone.

"3 Samuel Court." She answered. Quickly, she explained what had led them to the conclusion.

"I don't care about that!" Garcia was saying. "Where's our Jayje? How is she?" The analyst's voice was frantic.

Prentiss let out a breath. "Hotch is going in the ambulance with her. She had a dislocated shoulder that Hotch fixed." Prentiss' head was spinning. "She's got an infection at the very least, but she's barely conscious. I don't…" Prentiss' voice trailed off. "She's hurt pretty badly."

--

"Hotch." Her voice was a whisper as the door to the ambulance slammed shut. Everyone was moving quickly around her. Colors were swirling an d she couldn't keep track of Aaron Hotchner.

"I'm right here." He promised, taking a seat next to the stretcher, where she could see him. He'd rode in the backs of ambulances for teammates before, but only Reid's after the Henkel case could match this. He saw how frenzied her breathing was, and placed his hand on the shoulder he'd repaired. "You're alright, Jen." He promised. "Can you take a few deep breaths?" Hotch caught the nod of approval from the red-headed female EMT at his actions. JJ struggled to breathe deeply.

The past half house had felt both like five minutes and longer than a week. Her eyes – they were normally so bright and friendly, but they were fearful ad pained now. He couldn't stand it. Guilt laid heavily in his heart; he wished he'd taken that bullet instead of her. If given the chance, he'd take several for her: for any of the members on his team. Quietly, he took the liaison's hand in his own. Much to his surprise, she squeezed his fingers.

Moments before, in the silence of the garage, she'd asked permission to break down. That question had broken them all. She'd looked towards them, her defenses shattered and her guard down, and he'd nodded his permission, horrified that she felt she needed it. It hadn't been the first time since working with her that he'd given her that permission: once before, a year or so back, but this, it was so much different.

Her face had fallen, her cries were silent. Tears had made the dirt on her bruised face fall away in streaks. The young woman had begun to curl in on herself, her shoulders coming forward.

He'd taken her hand in his own. There was no reason that she had to go through it alone. He wouldn't allow it. Her fingers had dug into his palm.

They'd remained that way until the EMTs had arrived.

It was evident that Bennett had broken her.

He could only hope that it wasn't completely.

She squeezed his hand now. Her eyes were clouded with weariness; he didn't know how much longer she'd be conscious for. Her lips parted in an attempt to say something. "I didn't…" She whispered. "Din't break 'til he was gone." Her words were mumbled as if she couldn't force her lips to work properly.

His heart broke. It was as if she could read his mind. She'd always been connected to each member of the team. In that way, she was a better profiler than the lot of them. She dealt with people. She understood them, and she understood him now.

"Told me…" She tried. "If I broke, I died." The pain in her voice was unbearable. Jj seemed almost to be asking him something. "I … broke…" Her words stopped, and he realized what she was asking, but she'd fallen unconscious again.

Even freed, there was some small part of her that didn't yet understand crying did not mean death.

It meant _life_.

And he would tell her this, when she was able to understand.

--

Morgan's eyes were full of fire when he entered the hospital doors. The glass swung open before him. Rossi was walking at Morgan's side, no less fire in his eyes. Agent Jordan Todd and Penelope Garcia followed closely behind, though their paces were considerably calmer. Inside Garcia's heart was contained the same fire living in Morgan's eyes. _Nobody_ hurt her ducklings.

The dark skinned profiler was making his way towards the reception desk, Rossi now slightly behind him. The only thing that stopped him from terrorizing the poor receptionist – he saw that her nametag read Blair – was a familiar voice calling to him from the waiting area.

"Morgan!"

He turned, his eyes flashing. Prentiss had risen from one of the hard plastic chairs that populated all hospital waiting rooms. Reid was on her right, exhaustion plain to see in his eyes. The two agents walked to where Morgan, Rossi, Todd, and Garcia were, and together they moved to a side area of the room.

"What do you know so far?" Morgan asked immediately – together, he and Rossi had taken charge in Hotch's temporary unexplained absence.

His question was joined by a "How is she?" from Garcia. Todd stood off to Garcia's side, it wasn't hard to read the unease on the woman's face. She didn't feel as if she belonged, even though this wasn't her first time working with the group. She'd only come with them because Garcia had told her she had to, that she wouldn't be out of place. The young liaison hadn't believed her entirely, but she'd joined them never the less.

Reid shook his head. "We don't know much yet. She was taken in and Hotch went with her, but we haven't seen any of them since – it hasn't been too long, though, and the extent of her injuries would mean-"

"Reid." Morgan interrupted, and Reid closed his mouth quickly, his eyes looking to his shoes.

"Sorry," He said, swallowing. "We don't know too much. Hotch fixed her shoulder, but she's got some broken ribs, bruising…" His voice trailed off, going through what he knew from his own knowledge and what the EMTs had told them at the scene. His voice was quieter with his next sentence. "She's pretty traumatized."

Morgan's face had gone from pained to angered. "Hotch hasn't come back yet?"

"He's staying with her until he's certain she'll be alright." Prentiss answered him.

"He'll call when we can see her?" Garcia asked, and Prentiss nodded. Rossi had remained peculiarly silent throughout the time in the waiting room; his eyes seemed lost. For the first time, he'd allowed himself to have that sliver of hope upon hearing the words 'we found her'. And, for the first time, he was _afraid_. Afraid to see her and find that she was beyond repair. He knew that she was strong – but how much could a human take before they were done? Before they could do nothing more? "And a doctor's bound to be around soon." She checked her watch, finding it to be a half hour since they'd last spoken to a nurse.

She knew that she had to call Will at some point – but she didn't speak of it, not yet. She couldn't bear to put her through that, not yet. It could easily cause her psychological panic. She didn't want to put her friend through that – there would be a time, and it would be sooner rather than later, but it was not now.

She'd talk to her, when she saw her.

Each of the agent's heads turned at the approach of a doctor. It was a female, her dark blonde hair pulled up behind her head. Her eyes were a bright, flashing green, but she also looked as if she'd been woken up. Strands of hair fell from around the rubber-band that held it.

"I'm Dr. Jackie." The woman spoke; her voice was pleasant. "Are you family of Jennifer Jareau?"

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**I hope you liked the chapter! There are more to come, I promise – I had to end it there, because otherwise it was going to go on for quite a long time. If you have any suggestions or ideas of things that you would like to see, don't feel afraid to suggest them! **

**There's not much to this author's note except: please review! I wrote little snippets of all of your reviews on the inside of my notebook where I write this story – inspiration! **

**You're all AWESOME. If it were possible, I would buy each of you a puppy. **


	19. Chapter 19

"It's only love, it's only pain  
It's only fear, that run through my veins  
It's all the things you can't explain  
That make us human."

-Human by Civil Twilight

"We're family." Prentiss spoke first. Dr. Jackie sent the profiler a quizzical look, her green eyes wary. Not one of the agents broke eye contact with the woman. After all the things they'd been through in the past twenty hours, this doctor would not weaken their resolve. She would not be their roadblock.

The doctor took a breath before continuing. "Are you all from the BAU?" She tried again, raising her brow and meeting eyes with Morgan.

"We are." Morgan amended, flashing his badge. Several of the FBI Agents around him did the same.

"Do you have anything on our JJ?" Garcia asked, her eyes were lit hopefully.

The doctor smiled kindly. "I was told by Aaron Hotchner that you were to be considered family of the victim." The SAIC agent she'd spoken to in regards to JJ had been kindly, if not the smallest bit intimidating. He'd asked her to consider the Behavioral Analysis Unit as immediate family, something that was rarely done for so many people. However, the woman could see the special quality of this patient's case – there was something there. It was breaking protocol, but she would do it. The question of Mrs. Jareau's immediate family would have to be addressed – the hospital had been willing to make the call, but Agent Hotchner had asked for time; time to talk to Mrs. Jareau about it. She'd granted him the time, as long as it came before any major medical procedures.

"It's breaking protocol, but I can't find a reason to deny you after what that young woman has been through." The TV's in the hospital break room were sometimes set to the news – especially when an event such as the one that had occurred was taking place in their hometown. They'd all seen the hotlines set up, the press conferences from Jordan Todd, who stood before them now. "The staff has been following the news – your agent is one brave woman."

"She is." Rossi commented, speaking the truth he knew.

"Will she be alright?" Reid asked, his mind going through statistics he wished he didn't know. There was pain in knowledge. He wished he could still have the same kind of hope of unknowing innocence that he knew the rest of his team was capable of. They didn't know the statistics. They didn't know the facts of infected gunshot wounds and details of everything she'd be going through. They didn't know, and it made all the difference.

"Jennifer sustained mild head trauma." Dr. Jackie began, her tone turning instantly professional – though it was not without kindness. "She's suffered a mild concussion; she's lucky that ti wasn't worse." Her voice held the sincerity of her opinion. "There are several fractured ribs that came close to puncturing her lungs. We'll tape and reset them."

Garcia drew in a sharp breath, moving closer to Morgan. Noticing the fallen faces, Dr. Jackie reiterated, "She was lucky. It could have been much worse. There was severe bruising on her face and wrists." The woman took a measured breath before she spoke again; her voice held a much more somber quality to it.

"Her most prominent problem is the infection she received from the gunshot wound to her side, which will need surgery to repair once we are certain she can handle anesthetic. She's being put on heavy antibiotics."

"When can we see her?" Garcia questioned, blue eyes watering.

"Soon," Dr. Jackie promised. Her green eyes were somber. "She has a long road ahead of her, but her chances for a complete physical recovery are good, in my opinion."

Reid was the one to point out the choice of words, his brown eyes intent and wary. "Psychological?" He asked, remembering the terror that he'd seen in her eyes.

Dr. Jackie's sigh was involuntary. "In the time I spent with her, I noted that she was extremely wary of any male doctors – the only male she was not opposed to is Agent Hotchner."

Prentiss sucked in a breath – it had been something she'd been slightly expecting, but it hurt to hear the words all the same. The faces of the profilers in the BAU were drawn, taking in the news.

"She's conscious?" Jordan spoke in surprise. Many had forgotten she was there, silent as she had been. Her words now forced their way into the forefront, making themselves known.

"Briefly." Dr. Jackie answered. "We don't want her to fall asleep for prolonged periods of time."

"Poor baby." Garcia whispered.

"So she's afraid of men?" Morgan asked, running a hand over his head. His eyes were dark and angry. He'd made a promise to JJ – he'd kill Bennett himself, but that chance was gone now. In a way, he was glad – that man could spend the rest of his life in prison, and Morgan wouldn't lose a day of sleep over it.

He wouldn't have minded watching him go down at JJ's hands, though.

"She's wary. It took Agent Hotchner several minutes to convince her that they weren't going to harm her." The doctor said, looking back in her mind on what she'd seen. The injured young woman had been infinitely shaken by the presence of the male doctors – after several minutes of Aaron Hotchner convincing her that they were not there to harm her, she'd calmed. There was no mistaking, however, the remaining fear in her eyes. All doctors and nurses had quickly been switched for female.

"So give her a female." Morgan growled protectively, before the doctor had the chance to say that the changes had already been made.

"That's not the point, Morgan." Reid said. "She fears men."

Morgan's face was cast in shadow. "Yeah, kid, I know." He muttered.

"But she's not afraid of Hotch." Rossi re-iterated, dark eyes finding the green of Dr. Jackie's. The doctor nodded once in confirmation.

"Her doctors and nurses have been switched over to female, Agent Morgan." She met his eyes and he broke the gaze first. Her eyes then landed on Prentiss. "Agent Hotchner requested you join him."

Prentiss furrowed her brow, not sure why he'd request her. "He requested me?" She repeated, feeling the gazes of the rest of the team on her back.

"Are you Agent Prentiss?"

She let out a soft sigh that could have been a wondering laugh. "Yeah, that's me." Prentiss ran a hand through her hair, not understanding of why Hotch would be requesting her – she could see him requesting Garcia, since JJ and her were close – possibly Reid, as well, but she couldn't understand why he was requesting her. Perhaps, she thought, it would be that she was a woman, and JJ needed one right now. Still, the idea didn't sit quite right with her – besides Rossi, she was the newest on the team.

That doubt still existed, even when her conscious mind did not believe in it.

--

The young woman lying on the hospital bed was pale – even more so than usual. Where she was not bruised, he could see the blue, racing veins just beneath her skin.

She trusted him right now, implicitly. He could see that. Several doctors had come in, males – and she'd turned to him, her blue eyes frightened. It was almost as if she was stuck – back there, with Bennett, and he could do nothing to free her – only protect her from her imagined demons.

It killed him.

He watched her now – he couldn't allow her to sleep for very long. The most that he was allowed to let her drift off was ten minutes – he was pretty sure that the nurses were grateful for him being there. She listened to him without question or wariness; the nurses were already on a busy schedule. He'd been told that Will had to be brought in before any major medical procedures were done – and he understood why, of course.

It was why he had asked for Prentiss to join them.

He listened behind him, hearing two pairs of approaching footsteps – Prentiss and one of the nurses. Hotch breathed a sigh before pressing his lips into a straight line, dark eyes still on the woman before him. She looked so vulnerable – he'd always known her as the one on the team who was the most collected. Jennifer Jareau was unflappable. He knew that it was unreasonable to assume that anybody was invincible, and he had not assumed that – but if there was anybody who was the strongest on the team, it was her. That person would not be Rossi, or Reid. She was stronger than Prentiss; JJ was stronger than Morgan.

She was stronger than him.

This strength did not come from the physicality that Morgan had. She was stronger than him because she trusted more implicitly than he did. Where he could not trust, she could – and that was needed in a position such as hers. Aaron Hotchner knew that Bennett had temporarily robbed that trust from her.

Her strength did not come from the seniority that Rossi had. Rossi was a singular man – being on a team was new to him, but JJ was and always had been about the team – _they_ were her job. She dictated everything to them, reported to them. Would she still be able to trust the team after all that had happened? He couldn't help but feel that they'd failed her by not getting there quickly enough – by letting her get captured in the first place.

JJ's strength did not come from the same place that Reid's came from – absolute knowledge. Reid was younger, though not as innocent as some believed him to be. Hotch knew this; the man hadn't been as childishly innocent as he appeared since he was eighteen, when he'd put his mother into an asylum. But where Reid was young, JJ had the experience – she'd been at this job longer than Reid had. She had the social skills that he did not – and she proved it every day when she was in front of the cameras.

Their liaison's strength did not come from the place that Prentiss' strength came from. The profiler knew how to compartmentalize – she could handle anything. While that was where Prentiss' strength came from, JJ's strength stemmed from the fact that she could not. Things affected her more easily; it made her relatable, and it made her good at her job.

His own strength came from his ability to push past himself – to devote himself entirely to the job at hand. It had made him excellent at his job.

It had also taken everything from him.

He'd lost Haley, and he'd lost his son. He couldn't get them back: he had to deal with the cards that he'd been given now. If he'd had the chance – would he have changed things? He didn't know if it was in him to be able to.

She could do both. She'd kept Will. She'd kept Henry. And he was not going to let her make the same mistake: he was not going to let the woman before him push away the ones who loved her most because of what a twisted man had done to her.

He would get her back – because even when she was there physically in front of them, the rescue was not done.

In some ways, it would never be fully done – yes, they would come close, so close that everyone around her would think she was fully healed. Reid would know this the best of all. Eventually, only she would know in her heart what she felt – and then, he knew, it was up to her to take that final step and cast away the shadow of doubt that still lingered over her.

He felt the presence standing in the doorway and squeezed the young woman's shoulder. It took a few moments for her to open her eyes and look hazily at him – by now, she knew the routine. She couldn't go into surgery until they were sure she could handle being under anesthesia; she had to go into surgery as soon as she could, though – the surgery would repair the gunshot wound to her side, the cause of the infection that plagued her now.

"JJ. Hotch.' Prentiss said at the doorway; the nurse had already left. She viewed him with tired, questioning eyes. He answered her question without her having to answer it – after all, he was a profiler.

He stood, his eyes finding her face. Those dark eyes were speaking to her without words, conveying a deeper meaning. "I need you to speak to her, Emily." He used her first name.

There was no question in her mind, after those words, of what he had called her there for. He needed her to talk to JJ about Will, as she'd planned to. Interpreting his deeper meaning, the ambassador's daughter nodded, looking to JJ. She looked so frail, unlike she'd ever seen her: after the Henkel case, she'd been traumatized and distraught, but it was nothing like this. This was a whole new level for the liaison.

Hotch clasped a hand on Prentiss' shoulder, and the touch was comforting after such a long ordeal. "I'll be outside." He murmured, and she nodded. He disappeared from the room, his absence leaving a tangible space.

Prentiss moved towards JJ's bedside, forcing herself to smile even though the young woman before her was so pale that it stopped her heart in her chest. "Hey, sweetie." Prentiss whispered, sitting where Hotch had sat moments before. She squeezed her hand; blue eyes watched her in a pale face.

"Hi." Came JJ's whispered, croaky reply. Tubes and wires ran every which way from the liaison's bruised body.

"I missed you." Prentiss smiled kindly. She took a deep breath – she still couldn't stand to put her friend through the psychological torture this conversation might cause, but she didn't have a choice. She had to broach the topic. After a moment's silence, during which JJ watched her with exhausted blue eyes, Prentiss began to speak.

"Jayje, we need to talk."

Prentiss' heart broke when the woman's lower lip trembled. "I'm sorry." She whispered, sounding nothing like herself.

"It's nothing you did, honey." She was speaking as she would to a very young victim. "I promise you." Again she squeezed her friend's hand. "Reid pretty much said it back there, JJ. Nothing that he did to you – not a single part of it – was your fault. There is _no reason_ you should feel you're at fault."

The younger woman's lower lip was trembling.

"JJ, Will loves you." The smile lighting the profiler's face was humored. "And he will never see you as less for what happened."

JJ could barely look at her friend when she spoke the question; her voice was barely present. "How can you be sure?" She shuddered, and Prentiss' eyes went to the board of vital stats, double checking that she was still alright – as alright as her friend could be at this point.

One side of Prentiss' mouth curved up into a smile. "Because," she said. "When Will found out what had happened, back in the warehouse? He broke Hotch's nose."

Prentiss looked at her friend with complete sincerity in her eyes. "And you only do that kind of thing for extreme love."

**Author's Note: **

**I'm a bit uncertain about this one, but I'm hoping that you guys like it anyway. All the reviews that I got last chapter were awesome! You guys are awesome. I use the word awesome too much. All the youtube comments I got were great as well! **

**So … episode 100, everyone?! **

**Please review. It makes my day awesome. :)**

**Did I mention that you guys are awesome? That I say awesome too much? And that I'm going to have carpal tunnel by the end of the week? **


	20. Chapter 20

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"I'm miles from where you are,

I, I lay down on the cold ground,

And pray that something picks me up

And sets me down in your warm arms."

-Set Fire to the Third Bar by Snow Patrol

William LaMontagne had slept for exactly sixteen minutes and fifteen seconds that night. The sleep had come with eight month old Henry in his arms – he'd drifted off while holding his young son. The New Orleans native had jolted awake moments later – an image from a nightmare burned into his retinas. He'd put Henry down for the night and sat on the edge of the hotel bed, his head in his hand and elbow rested on his knees.

He wouldn't have been sitting there, if not for his son. The eight month old was the tether that held him there, keeping him from doing anything stupid or rash. In a way, he was thankful. He wasn't sure of what he would do if not for that tether.

His eyes landed on the alarm clock on the bedside table. The red LED lights told him that it was 1:02 in the morning, countless hours after he'd last spoken to Hotch, or any of the people on his fiance's team. His hand constantly went towards his cell phone – he wanted, needed, to know what was happening, but feared his calling would be a distraction. He couldn't have that, not when it would be a distraction from them finding her.

He'd turned on the news; the first channel he'd turned to had been news of her. He hadn't even intended to watch whatever it was he would turn on, only had needed a background noise. It'd been turned on so low that he'd hardly been able to hear it – but he saw her picture flash across the screen and the number for a hotline scroll across the bottom. Just seeing her face on the screen was enough to make his heart lose its rhythm. The next picture that they showed was of her captor – Anthony Bennett. The former detective's blood boiled – and he could do nothing.

But even though the photos of her confirmed every fear that he'd denied; even though the pictures of Bennett forced hatred to run through his veins, he couldn't turn off the TV. He couldn't make that screen turn to black.

Because, in his heart, he knew that he might never see Jennifer Jareau again. He couldn't' bear to turn off the TV, to make the time he feared come even sooner.

At 2:36that morning, he began to pace in tight circles before the TV he'd muted: hoping that some flash of genius would come from the tension power circles he made in the hotel room. The former detective received none.

At 3:42, William LaMontagne picked up his cell phone and began to dial. He wouldn't bother the team, not when they were working to save her – they'd promised him that they'd call. Instead, he began to call every hospital in the DC and surrounding areas – just in case, somehow, she'd managed to escape. It didn't matter to him that the team had probably already done the same – he had to do something. He couldn't just sit there. This wouldn't hurt anyone – it could only help.

He counted on the promise that they'd call – but his heart raced never the less.

And he felt completely and utterly useless.

When he ran out of hospitals to call, he watched their son sleep and thought of how much he looked like her.

It was all he wished to do to be out there, looking for her as well – but he couldn't, not with Henry here – and leaving him home had never been an option, either – he was the promise that she'd be back, the hope that he'd hand Henry to her to hold in her arms.

At 5:03 in the morning, Henry woke. He'd slept through the night for months now; the New Orleans native wondered if he, too, felt the absence of her.

They'd promised him they'd call, he reminded himself. They'd said he could do nothing there – he'd answered all of their questions. His background in the police department didn't matter – he was too close to the victim to work the case.

He remembered the day the Jones case had closed, when he'd watched her team get ready to leave New Orleans. He'd asked how he was going to survive with a woman like her going so far away; she'd responded by telling him that cell phones were good for your health, despite what he'd heard.

He'd give a lot to hear her voice right now, even for just the smallest of moments.

When Henry woke, he turned off the T.V. – he couldn't fathom the chance of Henry knowing, even ridiculous as that was. The TV blank, he felt the true depth of life without Jennifer Jareau.

Nearing seven AM, he almost called the BAU – but stopped both times when he thought of them pausing in their work to give him an update. It wasn't a question of if they'd do it – he knew that they would, but he didn't _want_ them to. It meant more seconds she could be out there, alone …

At 8:07, Henry fell asleep again. William LaMontagne's hand again hovered over the silver cell phone, the impulse to call rising through his veins. His entire hand itched for him to make that call.

He never got a chance to decide.

At 8:07 AM, Will's phone rang, and the caller was Emily Prentiss.

"Hello." He said, his voice breathless.

"Will."

The voice was hers.

--

Prentiss' hand paused over her phone; her eyes on the pale woman in front of her. It wasn't the question of hospital policy regarding cell phones. The profiler had no problems breaking that rule.

It was whether or not it was the right thing to do that paused her hand.

She looked back towards her friend – there was still fear in her blue eyes, but it was a different kind of fear that she saw now. Before she'd spoken to JJ, the liaison had been afraid of what Will would think of her.

It wasn't that the fear was vanished 0 but it was more gone than she'd seen since they'd arrived at the hospital.

Maybe this would banish that fear altogether. She could only hope that it would – that she was making the right decision.

She moved closer to JJ, dialing the numbers he'd given them before leaving the precinct. It was in dialing that she saw something return to the liaison's eyes – a certain want. Prentiss paused in her dialing.

"Emily, could I…?" There it was, in her eyes – that determination, some spark of it returning, if only for a moment. It flashed there so briefly that she thought she'd imagined it.

"Yeah, of course." There was considerable surprise in the profiler's voice as she pressed 'send' and held the phone to her friend's ear – she was still too weak to hold it herself.

JJ met her friend's eyes, holding them there as Prentiss held the small, silver cell phone. "Thank you." She whispered, but it was for more than the phone call – it was for everything, for four years and counting – for finding her, for searching for her, for being there now – but mostly, it was for the reassurance she'd received moments before.

The blonde liaison was still frightened – part of her still said that he wouldn't accept her back, because of what Bennett had repeatedly tried to do to her. That part of her was hard to get past – the wall was made of brick, but Prentiss had chipped off a considerable amount. The amount was large enough for her to stick her hand into and want to plow away the rest, leaving only crumbling remains of a fear that had once been.

The phone hadn't rung once before he answered it. He'd been _waiting_. Even as another piece of the wall fell away, she reminded herself that he didn't yet know what Bennett had done to her.

"Hi." His voice was breathless.

"Will." She said his name, a mixture between a cry and a greeting, as memories came flooding back. Memories of meeting him – of late night phone conversations, of telling the team about Henry …

"_Jennifer_." His accent poured over the phone and he didn't' sound angry. More of the wall fell away. "Oh my god, Henry, it's your momma!" His cry was joyful. A laugh – unbidden, hidden deep within her – slipped to the surface. It was short, no more than a syllable, but it was there.

"Tell me you're safe – they've got you, tell me."

Her eyes flashed to Prentiss', unsure, but there was the ghost of a smile on her face. "I'm safe." She said.

"Where are you?" He asked, breathless as if he'd been running. "I'll be there before you can think."

The media liaison ran into her wall – if he knew, if he were to see her – if _Henry_ were to see his mother, would he ever see her the same way again? What if she was no longer good enough for them? Her breathing quickened. "I'm…" Her voice was meager. She swallowed. "I don't…" Her mind flashed back on the way he'd said her name – and how _happy_ he'd sounded.

"I'm at Rosemarie Memorial Hospital." She forced, and watched more of the wall crumble away.

She heard movement on the other end of the line. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Jennifer. You're everything."

There were tears rolling down her cheeks, as that realization of her own hit full force. "I love you."

He'd never thought he'd hear those words again.

**--**

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**Happy Thanksgiving (Belated). **

**We're not done yet! There are more chapters to come, promise.**

**So … if anyone wants to discuss 100 with me, feel free to message me and we'll have long, drawn out discussions. I'd be glad to. To those of you, whom, on Wednesday night, had said discussions with me, this chapter is for you. **

**I hope you enjoyed this one – did you like Will's POV? **

**Please review – every review means so much more than I can even explain. Even bad ones – just give me something to improve on. **

**Oh, and for Brynnifer – thanks for the extended encouragement over the past few days. You're awesome. **

**3, **

**SSW**


	21. Chapter 21

_The Art of Butterflies_

"I will be your guardian  
When all is crumbling  
Steady your hand

You can never say never  
Why we don't know when  
Time, time and time again  
Younger now then we were before."

-Never Say Never by the Fray

There was a cold, gripping panic that came with letting her out of their sight again. The panic was cold shards of ice running through their bloodstreams, reaching every faction of their bodies. The panic stung in Prentiss' fingers and slowed her breath. The icy panic numbed Hotch's thoughts and closed an icy fingered hand around his heart. Neither spoke of the panic to the other – one look at each other while leaving the hospital room had been enough for them to know that they felt the same.

It made no difference that the liaison would be in good hands. That fact did nothing to stem their illogical panic. She'd been missing for nearly twenty hours – letting her go now felt like failure all over again.

Moments before, Dr. Jackie had arrived back at their hospital room. After closing his call with JJ, he'd been connected with his fiancé's doctor. The call had come at just the right time – a nurse had come in to check over the media liaison and proclaimed her to be ready for surgery. Dr. Jackie had explained that they'd be taking "Mrs. Jareau" down for surgery.

Now, the two Behavioral Analysis Unit Agents walked, side by side, back towards where the rest of their team was waiting. It had been hard enough to leave her without thinking about the fact that there was always the chance she could die during surgery. That fact was too painful to think about. The agents dealt with the possibility that, every day they went to work, they might not return home that night. This – it was different.

They were silent as they entered the elevator, heading back down to the emergency room.

It was strange, what the elevator did for them – in the silence of the enclosed box, Prentiss found her voice again. It wasn't a question of whether or not the man had heard the conversation she'd had with JJ – he'd been right outside the door. Even if he hadn't been listening, he would have heard it.

She shifted from her right foot to the left. Her dark hair was normally tied up tightly in a pony tail. She hadn't bothered to fix it after rescuing Jennifer Jareau –strands now fell in disarray around her eyes.

"We found her." She began by stating the obvious as the elevator descended, her dark eyes on the silver elevator doors. It reflected a dim outline of the two agents, distorted and warped in its silver reflection.

"It's not over, Prentiss." He assured her. His eyes moved from the red LED numbers counting down the floors to the woman standing next to him.

"Didn't say it was, Hotch." She answered. "Just that we found her." The profiler allowed herself the smallest of smiles at that thought – because, even though they weren't out of the woods yet, that one fact was true. They had their liaison back – she might not be whole, but she was back with them. Before, they weren't able to help her – now, it was up to them to help her out of the woods, instead of having the ball be in Bennett's court.

"This isn't your fault, Hotch." She said, meeting his eyes. She could see his guilt in the way he was standing – she wouldn't be good at her job if she couldn't do that. When she met his eyes, she could see the pain that was living there – different from the pain that JJ was experiencing. His was the pain that came from watching another's pain and feeling responsible for it – being able to do almost nothing at all to stop it.

His mind went back to the ambulance ride as the elevator counted down, and his promise to himself that he'd show her she didn't have to be unbreakable to be strong. He intended to keep that promise. "I wish we could have done something sooner."

His voice sounded broken, showing to her those rare seconds of emotion the unflappable man hardly ever showed to anyone. "Hotch-"

"No, I know we did everything we could." The profiler said; his eyes on the red number 2 that flashed above the elevator doors.

"We did." She assured him, even though she wasn't convinced of it herself. She wondered if that fact came across in her voice. Prentiss allowed herself to smile toward her boss. "I think hearing Will's voice? It helped her, Hotch."

The elevator number read 1, beeping its arrival on the final floor. "It was a good move." He assured her, touching her shoulder briefly before the silver doors of the elevator slid open, revealing a hallway full of hurrying doctors and nurses.

Together, they traveled down the hallway leading to the emergency room. The unit chief hadn't seen any of his team – besides Prentiss – since stepping into the ambulance with JJ. The last time he'd seen most of his team had been prior to Reid, Prentiss, and himself stepping out of the headquarters to investigate the possible kidnapping of Robin Briggs. The last time he'd seen Reid, the young man had given a touching speech to JJ, one that he'd yet to acknowledge him for.

The nurses and doctors were a familiar sight – when you were in the FBI, your co-workers ended up in the hospital a lot more than if you worked at P.C. Richards. The BAU had, so far, been vaguely lucky – most of their team's visits to the hospital had not been for a life threatening reason. Yes, there had been plenty of instances in which Reid managed to get himself caught in some ridiculous situation and Hotch had insisted on him visiting the hospital, there had been times when Morgan's hero complex had gone too far … but this was one of those times where more than someone's pride was at stake.

Walking down the hallway towards the emergency room, Hotch held out a hand to stop Prentiss as they began to pass the café – it had been a long time since any of them had eaten – or slept, for that matter – and he knew that none of his team would be leaving the hospital until they received news of her.

--

In the emergency room, the Behavioral Analysis Unit and Special Agent Jordan Todd waited anxiously for news of Jennifer Jareau. It had been nearly an hour since they'd last received news of her - the last time had been when Dr. Jackie had brought Prentiss to her hospital room. For many, an hour would not be considered a long time - but for the agents who had searched for her for most of twenty hours, that single hour felt like a lifetime. It was one more hour where they had no news of her, one more hour where they could not see her, assure themselves that Prentiss, Reid, and Hotch had indeed rescued their liaison.

It was as if they'd sectioned off their own corner of the emergency room - the far right corner consisted solely of the agents as they impatiently waited.

It was only Jordan Todd who seemed to be able to sit without some form of constant movement - trying not to rock the boat that she felt she'd stepped into without permission. Her hands were clasped lightly in her lap, her brown eyes on the desk some feet away from them, hoping and praying for news of the woman she'd come to the team to save.

The rest of the agents were in some form of constant motion. Derek Morgan was the most animated of the group, his pacing steps taking him back and forth in front of the agents; he was the only one who refused to sit. Dark eyes flickered back and forth from where he knew Hotch and Prentiss would eventually emerge, to the team, and back again. He couldn't sit still - he never could in situations such as these.

Spencer Reid's foot tapped anxiously on the floor; he chewed on his thumbnail nervously. A magazine sat unopened on his lap - reading wasn't going to hold his attention just then. He could not imagine being drawn in by the printed word at this very moment, the articles failed to capture him. All that his eyes could see was the repeated image of her blue eyes staring back at him, so alone even with them finally there. The young man pressed a hand to his eyes, wanting to eradicate the image. At the same time, however, he never wanted to forget what humans could do if they chose so - because that was the drive that made him want to do this job. He couldn't - wouldn't - let that happen to another person. It was the promise that they each made to themselves at the end of every night - what kept them coming back in the morning - and the promise that they knew they would fail during each case.

David Rossi was the most physically still, next to Jordan Todd - his constant movement was silent, in his thoughts. He was one of the people who hadn't seen her yet - only Reid, Prentiss, and Hotch had had that privilege. His eyes kept traveling back to the distressed young man, wondering what he'd seen - even though he and Prentiss had explained to them her condition, he still could not fathom it. From the day that he'd first seen her, she'd always had that fire about her - dedication, commitment, a drive that many people didn't have - the drive that had propelled her to work for the BAU. The author and profiler could not imagine her without that fire - it was wrong. He'd seen FBI agents fallen before, seen them dissolve quickly - and knew instantly that this team was not going to let that happen to her. He was still the newcomer on this team - still learning the true meaning of working on a team and not as a singular agent - but he knew that this team was more like a family than any team he'd seen so far; he was proud to be on it.

"Morgan, sit down." She was not in the high spirits to use some nickname between the two of them - she used his name, plain and simple. There was pain in her voice. "You've got to be exhausted." She said, watching the man pace back and forth in front of them. He shook his head, his dark eyes holding anger - anger that she knew was not towards her, but towards himself - for not being there, for not being able to get to her sooner - but mostly for the man that had dared to do this to one of his team. The technical analyst couldn't let her mind imagine what JJ would look like, or what she had gone too - she knew all too well what she would have gone through. She'd seen footage of similar abductions. She wasn't free of those mental images just because she did not go on the field. If she were to imagine these things, she would fall apart. The mere thought of what she might have gone through constricted her heart and sent tears running for her eyes.

None of them noticed exhaustion or hunger any longer – these things that they'd felt while working the case were lost among the fury and worry of waiting.

The silence was the sixth person in the room, a tangible object that was shattered by the approach of Prentiss and Hotch, who were carrying breakfast – bagels and coffee.

"How is she, Hotch?" Rossi was the first to speak, locking eyes with the younger agent. He wondered if the man knew just how worn down he appeared. Hotch's eyes held the tired quality that one only got from the stress that came with cases – his stress was amplified by the nature of this case. The sleeves of his white dress shirt had splatterings of blood on them, red in stark contrast against the white.

"She's been taken down to surgery." Hotch informed them, handing over a coffee and bagel. Rossi accepted, but made no move to eat. "Will and Henry will be arriving within the hour." Hotch continued.

Reid seemed to acknowledge that fact the most fully – he met eyes with Prentiss for a brief instance, knowing as she did what JJ had asked in the garage. The dark haired woman nodded; Reid confirmed this with a nod of his own. He knew now that she'd been sent to JJ to do – and it had worked. He had new respect for the woman.

Hotch handed the rest of the coffees and bagels over to their teammates. Each of them seemed to decide that they weren't hungry – they couldn't consider food while they were so anxious.

"Her fever went down some." Hotch continued. "And they're considering her to be safe for anesthesia."

"Dr. Jackie said she was having problems with men …" Morgan left the question open, his dark eyes going even darker with the anger that he'd left unspoken.

"It hasn't improved much, but Will was a giant step." Hotch assured him of that last part. "It's natural with someone who's undergone what she did." He hated to standardize her like that.

"But that man … he didn't, I mean, the doctor would have told us, right?" Garcia asked, her eyes darting between Hotch and Prentiss.

"They did a rape kit." Hotch answered. "She wasn't." His answer solicited a sigh of relief from several of the BAU agents. "I think he tried to – enough to scare her." His jaw tightened as he thought of what she'd have to have gone through.

Morgan's fist tightened. "That sick bastard." Protectiveness swarmed up in him. As with Reid, he considered the liaison part of his family. She was a sister of sorts, and he couldn't even think about someone trying to do that to her. He considered _all _of the BAU to be his family – and no one hurt his family.

"We're lucky he allowed her to stay alive for so long – she's strong." Hotch spoke the truth. "From what I got, he was waiting for her to break before he ended it." He remembered back to the ride in the ambulance. He didn't know of many people who would have stayed as strong as she did for such an amount of time.

Morgan ran a hand over his head, pushing a breath out between his teeth. Whatever he was going to say was lost in the arrival of a doctor. The man's face was humorless, his eyes a steely gray. His dark hair was cropped short, and his eyes were fixed on the group before him. He couldn't have been younger than forty.

"You're the federal agents I was told to contact when Anthony Bennett was ready to be interviewed?" The man didn't appear to be at all pleased by being removed from his job, but the agents before him had seen the attitude before; it didn't faze them. The doctors eyes said that he had more important things to be doing than reporting to agents from the FBI.

"Behavioral Analysis Unit from Quantico, Virginia." Hotch said, indicating his team quickly. The doctor's eyes grew even more annoyed at learning they were 'mind hunters'. Hotch viewed the doctor with a steady gaze. "Special Agent Morgan and I will be interviewing Bennett."

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**This chapter had to be the longest one in the history of The Art of Butterflies. I'm a bit unsure about it, but what else is new? xD I'm hoping that you enjoyed it – there will be several more chapters – including the interview referenced in this one. **

**If there's anything that I can ask, it's to please review! Even if you hated the chapter. :)**

**-SSW**


	22. Chapter 22

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

Aaron Hotchner felt sick. His stomach – long since accustomed to gruesome sights – rolled at the thought of interviewing this man. He had not had to interview Tobias Henkel after Reid had been taken, tortured and drugged for two days. He had not had to interview Cyrus after Prentiss and Reid had been held in that religious compound. He could not fathom laying eyes on this monster of a human being and not acting on the rage that he would feel – but he had to. If not for JJ's sake, then he didn't know who. She deserved for this man to go behind bars for life, and he needed to be the one to make that happen.

It was one of the reasons he'd brought Morgan with him instead of Rossi or Prentiss. With Rossi, the man would have seen right into the pit of every feeling he was having. He couldn't have that – couldn't deal with it at the moment. He had to be the one who was stoic. If he brought Prentiss in, he'd see those feelings written on her face – she'd try to hide them, but he'd see them and it would be like looking in a mirror.

Morgan would be entirely different. Hotch would have to be focused on not letting the younger agent go over-board – having that focus would take him away from his own self.

They arrived at the door to Anthony Bennett's hospital room. The door was being guarded by a stone faced cop whose arms were crossed over his chest. Deep set blue eyes were bright in a face that was framed by military short dark hair.

"Special Agent in Charge Aaron Hotchner and Special Agent Derek Morgan." Hotch announced, focusing on the business aspect. Past the cop, he could see the form of someone – someone human, lying on that hospital bed.

He wasn't too sure that it was. Human, that is.

Of course, he knew that Bennett was physically human … that all the monsters they pursued on a daily basis were all _human_ … it was _what_ made them turn to such _monstrous_ acts that was the reason his team existed.

It was the fact that a being who walked on two legs and called himself human could even think to hurt someone as innocent and as pure as Jennifer Jareau that didn't compute with that small part of Aaron Hotchner that hadn't yet become hardened to the job.

"Head right in, sir." The man nodded, opening the door for Morgan and Hotch.

"Thank you." Both Hotch and Morgan acknowledged before moving into the room where JJ's abductor lied.

Everything about Anthony Bennett was pitiful, except for his gray eyes. The forty year old man – born on July 12th, 1969 – was nothing more than that. He could have been anyone in his physicality – nowhere near fit, balding hair. If one was unaware of the man's past, of what he had done, if you did not look at his eyes, it was impossible to tell that this man was a monster.

His eyes were the cold, slightly damp gray of a mountainside slab of stone. They were flat, lifeless, dead, and cruel. To look into them was to feel that coldness in one's own soul, but neither FBI agent looked away from them. They couldn't. She hadn't been able to, why should they be allowed that privilege?

They stopped at the foot of his bed, and he looked on with the silence of someone who felt he had won, meeting their eyes and issuing a challenge that neither agent took. They did not, however, turn away.

After a moment of the silence, Hotch was the one who spoke. "We're not here to play your games, Anthony." He said, his hands clasped in front of him. "We're done with your games; the world is done with your games."

His voice was higher than Morgan had expected, he would have thought evil would have a darker voice. No matter the pitch, his voice was as cruel as his eyes. "I'm surprised; the FBI really _has_ lowered their standards. Did it start with Jennifer Jareau, then-"

"He told you we're not playing your game." Morgan interrupted, slamming a fist down on the footboard of the bed. It was a move pre-meditated – he was already feeling vulnerable due to his reclined position. Much to what he'd been aiming to do, Bennett flinched.

"We're not doing this." Morgan continued, leaning closer. Uncertainty crossed Bennett's cruel gray eyes for just a moment. It was undeniable that he was going to be unable to be as powerful in front of men as he was woman - and it was working to their advantage.

"You took the lives of woman you perceived as emasculating you. " Hotch said, stepping forward. "But you kept Agent Jareau. Why?"

A smile graced Bennett's lips and Morgan's fist clenched. Hotch's hand was flat, palm out by his leg, warning Morgan to not lose his cool.

"Jennifer-"

"You'll address her as Agent Jareau." Morgan snapped before drawing back again.

Unmoved, Bennett continued – wanting and needing to brag his story. "Jennifer was different. I saw your pretty liaison on the news and she wasn't afraid of me. Even after al she knew about me – I had to show her the truth … about me." His smile was greasy.

"So you kidnapped her." Hotch began, his eyes hard. "But you couldn't do what you intended." He had to disconnect himself from his words.

"Oh no. As soon as I saw the realization in her eyes, I was going to end it." He said, his eyes far gone in memories. "She was there, too. She was crying because she knew."

"Crying means _nothing_, Anthony!" Morgan snapped again. "You didn't come _close_ to breaking her." He wasn't sure if he was lying or not, and he didn't care what Hotch would think of him lying if he was.

"You're wrong, Agent Morgan." Bennett said. "You know, I told her how much she means to all of you – replacing her before you even found her body? She must mean a lot."

The muscles in Morgan's jaw jumped.

"Agent Todd was with us to rescue Agent Jareau, and for no other reason." Hotch said calmly, though his heart was racing. In normal circumstances, JJ wouldn't believe that – but had she, under everything she'd been going through? Had she believed that they'd abandon her, give up before they'd even started?

"How is Jennifer? She'll forever be the one that got away …" Bennett smiled, and Morgan snapped.

"You son of a _bitch_." He hissed, shoving the footboard. Every part of him begged, pleaded with him to jump forward and shove Bennett, shake him … but he stopped because of and for JJ. If that got back to her, she wouldn't be happy. She wouldn't want him to cross that line on her account.

Bennett laughed, his eyes on Hotch, though it wasn't hard to see Morgan's outburst had spooked him. He appeared diminished. He struggled to keep up his act. "It seems I can get on men's nerves, too – but not you, Agent Hotchner. Why?" Neither failed to note he called the men 'agent' and the woman by their first names.

"You're a coward." Hotch said it as a fact. "I've never met a coward as big as you – but the question is, why Jane? Why any of them?"

"She thoughts he was more important than me. They all did. But they all realized, in the end." He sounded like a child.

"The thing is," Morgan said. "yeah, you devastated a lot of people. But the men – the husbands, boyfriends, fathers – that you left behind? Will come out of this _stronger than you ever dreamed of being_."

With that, Morgan left the room – leaving behind a speechless Bennett.

Hotch turned to follow him, but stopped at the door. "From all of us, Anthony – _she wins_."

The door slammed behind him.

**TBC**

**Author's Note: **

**If you're reading – review? **

**I've got a question for you to answer somewhere in your review: do you want me to continue into JJ speaking to the BAU more closely, or do you want me to wrap it up, shorten it a bit? The longer version might be three or four chapters longer, give or take – if people will read and review them, I'll write them! **


	23. Chapter 23

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"She's strong." Rossi said, looking at the silent agents around him. Each of them had the same thoughts written on their faces – despair, hope, exhaustion, fear. He could see it plainly in Prentiss' eyes, the memories flashing there. "She'll make it through this – it'll take her awhile, but she will."

"I wish she didn't need to." Prentiss answered, looking towards Rossi – the only one who was standing – with a pained look in her eyes. She knew it wasn't their fault – it was nobody's fault but Bennett's – but, like Hotch had felt before, she couldn't help but feel responsible. Even when she'd told Hotch they'd done everything they could, there was that part of her whispering she should have made a connection between the boss and her house sooner.

Hotch and Morgan had left to interview around ten minutes ago, and weren't expected back for awhile more. None of them had begun to eat yet, even though the sandwiches were beginning to grow cold. It just wasn't in them at the moment.

"But she does." Rossi reminded her, bringing her back to the present. She sighed again, pushing her hand through her hair. "She's hurting right now, it's going to take awhile, but she'll be okay."

He didn't say that she would be fine, or that she'd be back to normal … he didn't even say that she'd be alright. She'd be none of those things. This 0 it was part of her now, but he knew she had the power to make it part of her past. It took a strong person to do that.

Jennifer Jareau was a strong person.

"Reid," Prentiss began after a moment, and the young man turned to look at her. "When we were in the garage. What you said to her back there, Reid, it meant a lot to JJ." She smiled the tiniest bit. "I don't think it could have been better said."

Reid shrugged. "It was only the truth, Emily."

"She needed to hear it." Prentiss replied, leaving Rossi to wonder exactly what had happened between the four agents in the garage – he knew, of course, the facts – that JJ had rendered Bennett unconscious – but what exactly they had seen and said lay unknown to him.

"What she's going to need is a lot of TLC." Garcia said, having remained uncharacteristically silent while the agents around her spoke.

"When is William LaMontagne going to be here?" Jordan Todd finally spoke. She, too, had been silent, but for a different reason. While Garcia hadn't wanted to interrupt them speaking, Jordan hadn't wanted to put herself into the conversation – she didn't feel it was her place. It wasn't that the BAU weren't welcoming – they were – but she felt out of place. This group that they had, it was a family she was only a distant cousin in, a step sister of sorts. They reminded her of her own team – Counter Terrorism – back in NYC. She took a moment in their shoes, wondering what it would be like if one of their agents were taken and Prentiss or Jareau had to come in. She could hardly imagine the conflicting feelings it would bring – wanting to accept them for the time being but not wanting to replace the missing member in your head. She also couldn't imagine the gruff leader of CT being as welcoming as Hotch had been, but she missed her team back home and couldn't wait to get back. Agents Grimaldi, Chezaneski, Saunders, and Robin were going to be glad to have her back.

And she was glad, too, that JJ had her team back. She hoped she'd never see the BAU under these circumstances again.

"He should be here soon, love." Garcia answered, eyes moving to the doorway of the emergency room. "In fact, that's him right there."

Each head turned as William LaMontagne entered the emergency room. It wasn't a bad assumption to say that he hadn't slept the night before; there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked as if he hadn't put thought into his clothes at all. All in all, he looked considerably _better_ than any of them had expected him to. Henry's stroller was in toe.

"Will." Emily greeted quickly. The last time that she'd spent more than ten minutes with the man, he'd ended up punching her boss in the face. She had the feeling, though, that it wouldn't be the case this time.

"Emily." He said, but his eyes were darting ahead. "Is she in surgery?"

"As of about a half hour ago." She answered. "We're waiting for news." She paused, watching him for a moment.

"It'll be awhile." Rossi said, stepping forward. "Sit down with us."

The former detective's eyes were pained; he kept looking from the empty chair next to Reid to the hallway. Finally, he exhaled and sat, bringing Henry's stroller with him. "I want the full story." He said, and there was no hesitation in his voice.

"Will, I don't think that you need to hear-" Reid began, but Will interrupted him.

"I want to know exactly what I'm dealing with." He answered, just as sure. He turned to look at the younger man. "Where and when did you find my wife?"

There it was again – Prentiss noticed it, that protectiveness that she'd seen briefly before he'd punched Hotch in the face. Quickly, she stepped forward, not wanting to have any part in the reoccurrence of that. "We found her at 3 Samuel Court around 5 in the morning." She said, and he looked angrily towards her. She cringed, internally.

"I got that call at eight this morning."

"Will, I know. She's-"

"I don't think there's much of a good explanation for that." His voice was still calm, nowhere near the level of anger that she'd last seen him. "Why wasn't I called the second that you found her?"

Prentiss took a breath. "She was upset when we found her, understandably." She began explaining. "She wasn't comfortable with seeing you yet."

She felt bad for the shock on his face. "Will-"

"She doesn't want to see me?" There was no mistaking the hurt on his face, in his voice. "Why doesn't she want to see me?" He was remembering the phone call, no doubt – there'd been nothing in that phone call that had even hinted at that.

"No, that's not what I said." She promised. "She was feeling insecure. She still is, to some extent. What that man did to her, Will – he did a lot of damage." She swallowed, sighing. "She wasn't feeling worthy of seeing you."

There was wild pain in his eyes; his head fell to his hand. He was murmuring something under his breath, something that she couldn't hear.

"She's tired and hurt, Will." Reid said. "She had a high fever – I think that when you see her, some of that insecurity might be gone."

His eyes were sad. "I love her."

Prentiss' smile was small, exhausted. "We know."

_Author's Note: _

_I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long. I hope that you've been reading my newest Criminal Minds story, _Stroke of Midnight_. It's a Christmas/Holiday story – involving a car crash. Anyway, I'm, again, not sure about this chapter – I hope that you enjoyed it. Thoughts on it, even if you didn't? _

_Please review. It means the world to me. _


	24. Chapter 24

_**The Art of Butterflies**_

"Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts."

-Winston Churchill

Eventually, Hotch and Morgan came back from interviewing Bennett. Something was different about them – something had changed. There was something different in their eyes – something akin to finality; something akin to closure. They sat among the BAU and Agent Todd, but there were no words exchanged – there was no need for words. It was easy to see in their eyes that Bennett had been defeated – as defeated as a man such as Bennett could be. Will and Hotch met eyes, and the former knew – knew that Bennett wouldn't be bothering his wife any longer, at least not in the flesh.

The memories – those would take time to rid herself of.

Hours passed in silence.

Nothing changed – it was once again as if they weren't truly there. Doctors and nurses passed, but none stopped. There was silence throughout them, though none of them slept – they sat in silent support, waiting, praying, and hoping that a doctor would come by with good news. None of them thought they could handle news any other than good news – they'd had too much of the other sort recently.

When a doctor finally did come by, she found them sitting close together – Garcia's head was rested on Morgan's shoulder. Henry had fallen asleep again in his stroller, and Will's hand rested on the handle of that stroller. Prentiss sat next to Hotch, who sat next to Reid. Agent Jordan Todd sat next to Morgan – she was nearing restlessness, not because she didn't want to be there, but because she was just as nervous as the rest of them.

It was Dr. Jackie, the same woman who'd talked to Prentiss and Hotch earlier, when they'd been in JJ's hospital room. "She's doing well." The woman said; her hair tucked into a surgical cap. "She's been moved into a recovery room in the ICU." Her face was kind, patient, though she looked exhausted from the hours she'd spent working in the operating room. "I'd say her prognosis for a full recovery looks good. I repaired the gunshot wound to her side and she's clear of infection." She removed the cap from her head and her dark blonde hair fell down. "We also stitched several cuts on her face that don't' appear too serious. We taped several broken ribs as well. From what she's been through, she's extremely lucky."

"Oh thank God." Garcia pressed her face against Morgan's shoulder. The profiler wrapped an arm tightly around the analyst. "Is she awake?"

"She'll wake within the hour." The woman said; eyes on Garcia. "If you would like, I can have two of you in with her when she wakes."

The eyes of the BAU all went to Will, who'd so far been listening intently but not speaking much. One hand was on Henry's stroller. "I'd like to be with her when she wakes." The New Orleans Native said, but his eyes were now on his son.

"Will, if you'd like I'll watch Henry while you're with her." Prentiss stepped forward, resting a hand on his arm. "I'm not leaving here any time soon." The dark haired profiler smiled encouragingly. "It would be good for you to be there when she wakes up."

Will paused, his eyes on her. "You're sure? I don't want to be … a burden …"

"We'll all watch him, Will." Reid spoke up, meeting the eyes of the agents around him. "It's the least we can do. It won't be a problem and don't worry about being a burden." He met eyes with Jordan, who nodded – she'd join them. Dr. Jackie waited patiently as they discussed – in her years working at the hospital, she'd never seen anything quite like what had been done to Jennifer Jareau – physically, it wasn't as bad as she knew it would be psychologically. She'd already made sure there was a psychologist assigned to Jareau.

She'd also never seen a group of people so supportive as this team of FBI agents was.

Will nodded, but he didn't remove his hand from the handle of the stroller yet. He turned his head towards Hotch. "If you'd … join me, Agent Hotchner, I'd be much obliged." His voice wavered – after what he'd done to the man over twenty four hours ago, he wasn't too sure that he'd want to join him, even after he'd apologized profusely earlier.

To his surprise, Hotch stood with him, and, together, they made their way towards the ICU.

--

_Author's Note: _

_I'm sorry that it's taken so long – I fear that there are people losing interest. That being said, I don't really like this chapter. If you're still reading and enjoying it, please do let me know. If you remember the author's note from a few chapters back, where I asked if you'd rather I wrapped it up or went the long route – I'm going the long route! There was overwhelming response for that – and I've got most of Reid's chapter written out. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and will review – I really do love knowing what you guys think. I shortened this chapter because it'll mean the next chapter will be out much sooner – again, I'm sorry about how horrid this chapter is, and the next one, I promise, will be better. _


	25. Chapter 25

_**The Art of Butterflies **_

He ran small circles on the inside of her palm – it was cool, nothing like the heat he'd felt before when they were in the garage. Her fever was gone – it was more relief than he could have possibly imagined. When he'd seen her in the garage hours ago, he hadn't imagined he could ever see her well again – and he wasn't seeing her well now. She was pale, and the bruises on her face were still there – but she was _alright_. Somehow, she was okay. He slid his hand quietly under hers, a reassurance that he was going to be there.

He mentally made a note to remind himself to tell her – because they didn't do that too often. They didn't often tell her how much they appreciated her.

Will was sitting on the other side - brushing the back of his hand continuously against her temple. He was speaking – but not truly aloud. His lips were moving in silent words uttered to her. Once they'd entered the room, his eyes had never left her – he watched her as if she was the sole thing in the room. To him, she was the only thing there –she was the most important thing and she always would be.

Hotch didn't think Will was even aware of his presence until he lifted his eyes to him upwards of forty five minutes later and spoke. "Thank you, for finding her." His hands were an inch away from starting to shake.

"She's lucky to have you, Will." Hotch told him. "If she's upset when she comes to-"

"I won't take it personally." William LaMontagne finished the sentence for the unit chief of the BAU, brushing the back of his hand over his fiancé's cheek. He hadn't broken contact with her since he'd been reunited with her. "Emily told me why I wasn't called immediately." He paused, meeting Hotch's eyes. "Thank you, for putting her first. That's another reason I asked you to join us – she feels safe with you, if she doesn't right away with me." There was no anger behind his voice – he was only hoping that she'd feel safe with one of them. That was all that mattered right now.

"Mm."

The noise was subtle, at first, but it caught both of the men's attentions. Their eyes snapped back to the pale woman lying in the hospital bed. JJ's brow was furrowed; her lips pressed tightly together. Will took a breath as his eyes went to Hotch in question. She moaned uneasily, turning her head away from Will's hand on her cheek. Quickly, Will withdrew his hand as if he'd burned her. JJ had her eyes screwed shut as if she feared opening them.

Hotch wondered how many times she'd fallen asleep and woken up only to be in the captivity of that garage. He couldn't stand to watch her work her way out of that conclusion now. "JJ." He spoke her name in hopes of her recognizing his voice. "JJ, sweetheart, take it easy. Open your eyes for us."

"Jenn? I love you." Will spoke, not giving her the chance to come to a conclusion of the contrary, touching her hand.

Her head was still turned away from Will; her eyes were closed. "Stop." She mumbled. "_Stop_."

"Take it easy." Hotch soothed. "Neither of us are going to hurt you. It's just me and Will. It's Hotch." He spoke slowly. "Open your eyes for us." He repeated.

She whimpered quietly. "You'll leave …" She paused in talking, her throat on fire. "… if … I look."

"We're not going anywhere, love." Will assured her, reaching out a hand to hover over hers'. After a second's deliberation, he placed it down.

"Not real." The liaison winced at using her voice again. "Can't be." She started to bring a hand towards her throat.

"We are real." Hotch professed. "We're right here, and it's only us. Me, you, and Will." The latter let Hotch do the talking – he was the profiler, after all, he knew what to say to someone who was frightened like his Jennifer was.

She took a breath through her nose, feeling the oxygen tubes on her face, hooking behind her ears. She brought a hand up again – she'd paused in the action before – to try and tug at it.

"Hey, none of that. I'm sorry, it's got to stay there for awhile, JJ." Hotch apologized.

She tilted her head back towards the ceiling, squeezing her eyelids shut tightly once before letting them slide open. The liaison blinked immediately, adjusting to the lighting.

"We're still here." Will told her, squeezing her hand.

"If you can sit up the tiniest bit, you can have a sip of water." Hotch urged. "Do you want Will to hold your head?"

"Please." She whispered, coughing and then groaning. The blonde woman steeled her jaw, needing a sip of water. Will moved closer, cradling her head and neck. She grit her teeth unhappily at the movement before relaxing her jaw again.

Hotch held the plastic pink cup of cool water to her lips. She took a gulp of it greedily before coughing harshly. Her hand flew to her ribs. "Slowly, JJ. It's not going anywhere." There were tears in the corners of her eyes from the sudden pain in her ribs. "Take a few breaths and try again." Hotch soothed. "There's no rush." The pained woman took a few shallow breaths, her hand clutching at her side. Finally, she took a couple of sips of water without coughing and Will rested her head against the pillow again. She fought not to close her eyes.

"Go ahead, close your eyes. It's alright." Will said, surprised to see her turn her head to look at him.

"Hi." She whispered.

"Hello." He answered.

Hotch touched her shoulder "Do you want a moment with Will?" He asked, after a moment's pause. If she didn't want him to leave – if she still wasn't comfortable with that – then he had no intentions of leaving. He would sleep there all night if he had to, but she nodded. "Alright, I'll tell the team you said hello." She nodded again and he left the room.

"Can I get you something?" Will asked. "Are you in pain?"

She nodded her head again. "Don't go?"

"I'm right here." He had to admit that the fact that she was doing the opposite of what he'd expected – wanting him to stay instead of wanting him to go – was a relief.

"I'm glad." She sighed, curling her arm against her chest. "I'm sorry. About before."

Will furrowed his brow. "For what, Jenn?"

There was sadness in her eyes. "I was afraid."

"I know." He said. "There's no problem with that." He leaned forward, and, very carefully, placed a kiss on the woman's forehead. She sighed. "I'll love you no matter what, JJ."

"I'm not in one piece right now."

"Nobody ever is." He answered, stroking her hair. "It's alright. We'll get through this, together. You, me, and our beautiful son."

Something changed in her eyes, then – something akin to light flashed in their blue depths.

And, though it was more alike to a ghost of something once there, she smiled.

_Author's Note: _

_I'll be putting a link up for it on my profile page, but, with the closing of the year, the 2009 Criminal Minds FanFiction awards are about to be underway! Nominations begin January 8the – and there are plenty of categories! Go check them out. Most of the fics there are loaded from livejournal, but you can nominate ones from FanFiction as well, I believe. I love these things – they introduce me to so many author's I haven't heard of before. _

_Well, if this chapter isn't uploaded before the closing of 2009, I apologize. But even if it isn't – Happy New Years. Thank you for making this year the greatest. _

_You're all amazing. Three hundred reviews? My god, I can't even begin to explain what that does to me. It makes me the happiest fanfiction author alive; that's for sure. _

_And no, we're not over yet. I'm thinking next chapter is Hotch's chapter to talk with JJ, and then … well, you'll see. So … review? It'd make a great start for the new years._


	26. Chapter 26

**The Art of Butterflies**

When Hotch returned nearly an hour and a half later, he was met with the site of three people in the room – Will, JJ, and a nurse. He knew the latter would have to come into the room to check on her at some point, but it didn't change the fact that JJ was ghostly pale and trembling. At least the nurse they'd given her was female, but she still cringed as the elderly woman checked the binding on her ribs. Hotch stood in the doorway, dark eyes finding Will. The New Orleans native was on the edge of the bed, talking to his fiancé softly. He looked up when he became aware of the older man's presence, and his eyes quickly went back to JJ.

"Do you want Hotchner to stay with you for awhile?" Will paused and Hotch couldn't see JJ's answer – the nurse was blocking her from view. "Alright." He finally said, and without taking his eyes off of JJ, began to speak to Hotch. "The nurse said it would be alright if I were to bring Henry in for a few moments, and I need to speak to Dr. Jackie. Would you mind …?"

"Not at all." Hotch said immediately, entering the hospital room when the nurse exited.

"Alright." Will said, moving from her bedside. Hotch could see the way he hesitated before he did so.

"I'll be with her." Hotch assured the former detective, who nodded once before exiting the room.

Hotch moved quickly to her bedside. She was still shaking, her hands clutched in the white sheets. He pulled the plastic chair to her head, very gently untwining her fingers from the sheets. She let him, the mask of her face cracking. She was holding her breath – pretending for Will that she was alright.

"Stop pretending. It's alright." He urged. "You're going to make yourself sick. Breathe. In and out." She was gripping his fingers weakly with her own. "You're alright." She took a few shaky breaths. "That's it. Take it easy. What do you need me to do?"

She shook her head, but her fingers were no longer gripping his as tightly as they were before. "I hate being dazed." JJ responded to his question. "It hurts to breathe. I'm confused." She confessed. "I know what happened but I …" She paused in talking, closing her eyes for a split second. "How bad off am I? The nurses, they said a few things but they're holding back. They don't want to scare me, Hotch."

He didn't want to have to tell her – because he knew as he discussed it, she'd feel it even more, but he couldn't deny her that right. "You're going to be alright." He assured her first, touching her hand. "When you first came in, you had a fever, and you're on antibiotics for the infection."

Her face was pale, but she nodded. After all that had happened – she could handle this. She could handle knowing what extent the injuries were. "My head hurts."

"You were concussed. They said you hit your head pretty good."

She made a noise that could be attributed to a groan.

"I know. I'm sorry. Breathing hurts because of your ribs – several were broken." Even now, her breathing was shallow. It hurt too much for her to take deep breaths, even though doctors and nurses had kept urging her to over the past hour and a half. She closed her eyes momentarily but they flashed open again only moments later, accompanied by a startled gasp that had her hand flying to her ribs.

He moved forward. "JJ?" She was pale and taking startled gasps of air. "Easy. You're safe." She was trembling again, when he thought that her trembling had ceased they were back to square one.

"Do you want to talk?"

She nodded slightly. "I have to." Her eyes were considerably less at ease then they had been minutes ago. "I need to … make it part of the past, Hotch. And the only way I know how to … start to do that … is through talking." She opened her eyes, turning her face towards him. Her next words were murmured. "I've always been good at talking. And I trust you, Hotch."

He squeezed her hand. "You can trust me. I'm sitting right here."

"I closed my eyes just now and …. God, I …" Her voice was shaking along with her hands. "I saw him. He's … he's never going to leave. B-Bennett." She struggled in saying his name. "He's never going to leave."

He knew it would be pointless, saying that Bennett was already gone. He was gone in flesh and blood, no longer able to bother her, but in JJ's mind? He wasn't gone, not just yet. He was very much there; very much able to hurt her in that way, but the unit chief had to try.

"He's gone, JJ. He's going to be locked away and he'll never touch you or anybody else again. I promise you that with everything in me. Over time you'll realize he's gone in your mind, too. He's going to be in the past, just like you said before. We're all going to help you with that."

She was still shaking, but slightly less than she'd been before. "I hate him."

"I do, too."

"I've never truly hated anyone before, Hotch." Her voice was a whisper. "What does that make me?"

"Sane." He promised her, smiling gently.

"He said something to me – back there, he told me … told me that nobody cared. That I was replaced. And god, I … I believed him. Just for a second."

He stroked the back of her hand. "You know Jordan was here just to help us find you." He reminded her, but she was already nodding.

"Yes. I do. But it was that second, Hotch – he made me believe it. How could I let him?"

"You were afraid." He reminded her. "And you'll never be replaced, JJ. You don't need to worry about that."

She nodded again, her eyes on the ceiling. Moments passed before she spoke again. It was as if her mouth move without her permission. "He tried to rape me. He couldn't." Her voice cracked. "But he t-tried. Several t-times. And every time I see … a stranger … I see …" She wouldn't finish the sentence. She couldn't. She began to sob, choking on them when she realized the pain it caused in her ribs. The ultimate irony – finally allowed to sob and she couldn't do so without it causing her pain.

He continued to squeeze her hand, letting her know silently that he wasn't moving as she struggled somewhere between tears and sobs.

When she'd quieted some – when her breathing was somewhere near the way it'd been before – he spoke again, his voice quiet. "It wasn't right, JJ, what he did to you. Nobody on earth should have to face what you did. It isn't fair. But you don't have to try so hard to be strong right now. We understand, JJ. Nobody will think less of you for tears."

She blinked several times, biting her lower lip. Her eyes were on the ceiling and her head was shaking back and forth ever so slightly. "They're going to treat me as the victim, Hotch."

"You're not a victim." He responded immediately. "Not in any of our eyes. I promise you that. You're not the victim. You're too strong for that."

She let her eyes slide closed for a moment. She was tired. Her eyelids felt scratchy and her limbs felt heavy but she couldn't sleep. Because, every time she closed her eyes she saw his face. And she couldn't … she simply couldn't. "Will's going to be gone for awhile," She began. "And that's alright, it is. But …" She swallowed.

"What?" Hotch asked softly.

"Can you have Spence come here for awhile? I think … I think I really need to talk to him."

_Author's Note: _

_You're all welcome to yell at me for not putting that link on my page just yet. But it's up now. And, to the person who said they'd nominate this story – unfortunately, it won't be eligible. Stories needed to be complete as of the 31__st__ of December. I believe there might be a category for works-in-progress, though I'm not sure. Either way, I urge you to go down and check them out – it's a great way to find new author's and nominate your favorite stories. I know I'll be doing so when the nominating starts. _

_Please review? It helps me know that there are people still reading and liking – or not liking – what I'm writing. Thank you to those who reviewed last chapter! All of you make me the happiest author ever. Mhm. _


	27. Chapter 27

**The Art of Butterflies **

The young man poked his head through the doorway of her hospital room, his brow furrowed. Hotch had come by for the second time in two hours. This time he'd told Reid that she'd asked for him, and he'd gone quickly to her room. It didn't make much sense to him, why she'd asked for him, but he wasn't in the business of questioning her today. He was glad she was speaking at all.

"JJ?" He asked. "Hotch said you wanted to talk to me." She looked so pale lying there, as pale as the sheets covering her. It must have been his imagination that she was skinnier than when he'd last seen her. There was an IV attached to her pale, bruised arm. She looked so … tired. Tentatively, he moved to her bedside and slowly sat in the hard plastic chair by her. He didn't want to frighten her. Her blue eyes turned towards him. They were missing something – that vital light they always held – but they were nowhere near as flat as when they'd been in the garage.

"Spence." She said, but her smile didn't match her face or reach her eyes. "How are you?" Her voice was hoarse.

He contained a noise of surprise. "I'm okay. What…" He trailed off. "How … are you?" He'd hated when they'd asked him that, after Tobias. Because he'd never been sure exactly what it was that second. It was always changing.

She grit her teeth, looking as if she were trying to decide what to answer. It took a moment for her to speak the words that left her lips. "I can't close my eyes." Her voice was a whisper and nothing more. Instantly she wished she could take her words back before reminding herself that it was Reid sitting in front of her. Reid didn't judge.

"You can't..." He began, confused.

"You're the only one." She said on a sigh. "I didn't know who else to ask." Every word hurt her ribs. 'Spence, I see him. Every time." He was surprised at just how tired – how fragile – her voice sounded.

"Oh." He murmured, then said. "JJ, I don't know-"

She spoke her words as quickly as she could, before she listened to the voice inside of her telling her not to speak anymore; that this was her problem because she was the broken one. "What did you do? After Tobias? I see … I see Bennett in every stranger." She made a sound akin to a whimper. "He's still got me in here." She touched her temple. "Please, Spence."

She'd spoken to Hotch because she needed to get it out – she needed that feeling to _leave_ and she needed someone else to know – even though she doubted he hadn't already had the inkling of exactly what Bennett had don to her. He was a profiler, after all. They'd worked this case for close to a week before she'd been taken. She'd spoken because she needed to be away from it. It needed to leave her, but even now that it had it was still there, resting in her mind awaiting the moment she closed her eyes.

Gently, Reid rested his hand on her shoulder. "It's hard. You'll always remember it, JJ. But you don't have to see him anymore. He's gone. It doesn't have to be so painful, I promise." He took a breath. For once he'd spoken no statistics on the matter. "Talking can help."

"I know." She murmured, but she still didn't seem so sure. She'd spoken to Hotch. She'd let the demon out in the open, but it was still in her mind.

"If your mind is saying you see him, tell me. I'll remind you that he's not really there." Reid promised. "Or tell someone else – Hotch or Will or Prentiss. We'll all reassure you, any of us. You don't have to be afraid or alone." He squeezed her shoulder. "Nobody is going to think less of you for admitting you need our help. I held things in, remember? It didn't go too well for me." He smiled, but the smile was sad. "I'm not going to let you do that as well."

There were tears in the blue eyes that she closed. "Thank you." Her voice was tight, a mere croak. She let her head fall to the hand on her shoulder. "Thank you, Spence."

He smiled the same sad smile. "It's alright." He promised her. "You know we all love you no matter what."

She sighed. "I do now."

**TBC**

_Author's Note: _

_I know that this chapter was shorter than most, but I didn't want to wreck it by dragging it out. Please review this one – I'm having one of those weeks where you think everything you do is utter badness. So if people reviewed and told me what they think – either way, bad or good – it'd be great. _

_There are several links on my page. One is to the forum I started on the site for character and episode discussion, story idea swapping, and discussion of your favorite fanfics on the site. I hope you'll check it out! _

_This one goes out to Brynnifer, who's been more of an encouragement than she could possibly realize. _

_The next chapter will include the reappearance of a certain adorable baby, and then we'll have the rest of the team appearing individually. If people have suggestions of things they want to see, don't be afraid to let me know. We're almost done here. There won't be more than ten more chapters if that many – definitely one each for Morgan, Prentiss, Garcia, Rossi, Todd (though she might join with someone else, unless someone speaks differently.) and then there'll be those chapters that wrap things up. And a special ending that I pretty much have planned out. _

_Please review! And … uh, that's it._


	28. Chapter 28

_**The Art of Butterflies **_

"'Tut, tut, child!' said the Duchess. 'Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.'"  
- Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland_, Ch. 9

He stayed with her as she tried to close her eyes, her cheek resting against his hand. The contact with another human seemed to calm her, if some. Her breathing had become regular. She wasn't sleeping, not truly, but her eyes were closed as he spoke to her, and that was better than it had been before.

His eyes didn't leave the door as he watched for Will to return, but his words were what seemed to do the trick. She was okay when he was talking: and, every once in awhile, he thought that he saw the faintest shadow of a smile.

He had seen, through the years, how strong that she was. He had seen how many things that she could handle – and while he'd never seen JJ so utterly broken, he knew that she could get through this too, in time.

"- and it's only the slightest of possibilities, but I thought that maybe you'd enjoy that." He concluded of the Redskins tickets. He'd been planning on giving the tickets to her on her birthday, because he knew how much she liked the team, but if it would help her smile in the slightest at the present time, then the loss of a surprise was a small price to pay.

He continued to speak to her. It was the least that he could do at a time when he felt he couldn't do anything. No matter what he did – it wasn't going to be enough. All he wanted to do was melt away whatever damage Anthony Bennett had done to her, erase it and replace it with the JJ that he knew.

He couldn't do that, though, so he would try his very best to do whatever little he could. For the better part of an hour and a half, Spencer Reid sat with Jennifer Jareau, and spoke.

When Will returned, it was with Henry. He didn't make his presence known immediately. For several moments he watched, because the image was one he knew would be rare in the coming months: a moment where his Jennifer was at peace.

It was Reid who noticed Will's prolonged presence in the doorway and gently squeezed JJ's shoulder. Her eyes opened instantly, the only reminder that she wasn't truly able to rest just yet. "JJ, Will's back. And he brought Henry with him."

Her eyes went to the door, her lips parted. Reid gave her shoulder another comforting squeeze before standing and pushing back his chair, nodding to William LaMontagne. He ducked out of the room in the same instant.

Her smile wasn't instantaneous, but it was bright. "Henry." She said, the name of her son forming on her lips as a mere whisper – afraid if she said it too loudly that it would shatter, a mirage revealed as fake before her eyes.

She couldn't sit up, but Will compensated for that. He sat with their son next to her bed, holding him just close enough so that JJ could reach forward a pale hand to touch his bald head.

There was a smile in her lips and a light in her eyes, a light that brighter than Will had seen since he'd been reunited with her, and it was the appearance of her son that had put it back.

"I missed you, baby." Her voice was hoarse but happy. "Were you good for Daddy and your aunts and uncles?" She stroked his head; the young boy giggled. Her blue eyes went to her fiancé. "I missed that sound."

"I missed that sound." Will said, and there was a boyish grin on his face. With the hand that wasn't holding on to their son, he reached out and stroked her hair. "We're going to be okay."

A smile flickered on her lips. "Yes." She answered, still not sure whether or not it was a lie, but it was what she wanted to say. She wanted things to be okay, she wanted things to be normal. She wanted that with a ferocity that she couldn't quite fathom.

She believed Spence when he said that they'd all help. She believed that. She believed that she could be okay, in time.

_Author's Note: _

_OMG. The Art of Butterflies has been nominated for the 2009 Criminal Minds FanFiction Awards! There's a link on my page where you can vote: it'd mean the absolute world to me! It's been nominated for Best Work-In-Progress. (And I've been nominated for best new author. I can't tell you how ecstatic I am. Another one of my stories, Closing Walls and Clicking Tocks, has been nominated as well for best Team Fic.) _

_On another note, a different note completely, I apologize so full heartedly for not updating. I know that it's been terrible of me but updates should be more frequent from now on. Life has been getting in the way. _

_And, I know that this is a shorter chapter but I didn't want to drag it out when it didn't need to be dragged out. _


	29. Chapter 29

**The Art of Butterflies **

A dream has power to poison sleep. ~Percy Bysshe Shelley, "Mutability"

"Hey, JJ. How are you feeling?"

The spark in JJ's eyes had not left, though it was dimmed from what it once had been. She managed to roll her eyes with Derek Morgan's question. "Tired of people asking me that." She answered in a voice that was still hoarse and only half joking. "But to those asking, I feel as if I've been hit by a truck then run back over." She coughed several times and her hand flew to her ribs, her mouth drawing tight in a straight line.

Morgan drew a breath. "You want a nurse, JJ?" He came closer to the liaison's side and touched her arm as if she would break.

"No more drugs, thanks. I've got plenty in me already." She offered a weary smile, one that he returned. The day had passed slowly, in jumps and pauses, until visiting hours for the post-op wing had ended at seven. The doctors had given her special permission to have someone stay with her even after visiting hours, but she'd sent Will home at seven. She'd told him that she wanted to get Henry out of the hospital, that it wasn't good for him, but in truth she'd needed time without Will. Not because she was afraid of him, or didn't want him there, but because she had simply needed time to think, now that she could, without him sitting there. She couldn't think with him sitting there.

The team of profilers had not been willing to leave her alone for the night, and she was thankful for it as nighttime drew closer and the realization dawned on her that sleep would have to be something she attempted, at the very least.

"You look like you're in pain, JJ." He touched her fingers with his.

The pale haired woman did not say exactly what she'd been thinking – that the uncomfortable she was at the moment was nothing compared to what she had been hours ago. "I'm alright." She answered as strongly as she could, though she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing carefully in and out.

"Squeeze my fingers as hard as you can." He told her, moving his hand to her shoulder. "Focus on that, just on that. I'm right here."

He hated to see her like this. One of the strongest, most compassionate women he knew was in so much pain that it was unfathomable – and still she was trying not to let on just how much pain she was really in. Relief had flown through his system when she hadn't flinched away from his hand on her shoulder. He'd thought that, for an instant, she wouldn't want to see him. She'd been alright with Hotch, with Reid, but there'd still been the doubt that she'd be afraid of him in some way. The fact that she wasn't meant a lot to him.

"What do I do now?" She asked after several seconds, turning her head towards him, blue eyes peeking open, but the question sounded a lot to him like _'Where do I go from here?'._ He answered the question that she'd asked, keeping the pressure on her fingers. He had practice in this, in being the brother, the protector.

"Lay your head back on the pillow." He instructed, voice quiet and reassuring. She looked at him for a moment, and he offered her a quick smile. "I'm right here. Lay your head back and close your eyes." He squeezed her hand reassuringly as she did as he'd asked, pale hair fanning out over the pillow. "Alright, there we go. I'm not going to let go of your hand. I can keep talking if you'd like."

"You want me to try to fall asleep?" She didn't open her eyes. "You trust me, don't you?"

"I do."

He smiled then in the way of someone who was relieved. "I will be right here. It's just the two of us."

Her eyes were closed, but her face was far from serene. With her hand wrapped in his, she attempted sleep for the first time since the ordeal had begun.

--

_"I am … you can't break … please, no, no!"_

He awoke to her hand wrenching itself out of his. For just a moment the profiler was unsure of where he was, and then he heard her voice again - begging, pleading, crying out. In the same instant he realized that the danger wasn't truthful, tangible, but imagined - making it all the most dangerous to her as it was in her mind. Derek Morgan shoved back the chair he'd fallen asleep in and dashed to the light, flipping the switch on and flooding the room with the bright sterile lights of the hospital. She was still flailing, twisting in the sheets, and he moved towards her quickly, taking both of her shoulders in his hands.

"JJ." He insisted, feeling the blood drain from his face. He wasn't naive, he knew that the ordeal wasn't over for her, but anger boiled in his blood at the fact that it had to be this way. It shouldn't be this way for her; now that the danger was over she should be free of this. "It's not real. Open your eyes. It's Morgan." He spoke quickly, but she was still twisting in her sleep. His dark eyes flashed to the door, considering going for a nurse.

JJ bolted upright, hands clenched in the sheets and knuckles bone white. Her blue eyes opened, but they were unseeing. Her breathing was coming as if she'd just run a half marathon. "Make him leave." Her words were hissed and panicked. "Please make him leave."

"He's gone. I've got you." He repeated those last three words several times, watching and listening as she blinked rapidly and her breathing slowed considerably. "I've got you, I promise." Morgan added those last two words as her blue eyes came back to focusing on the room. She focused on his face; her hands were pale and shaking clutched in the bedsheets.

"Morgan?"

"It was a nightmare, JJ." He didn't say _'just a nightmare'_, because dreams like the ones that could plague JJ now were more than nightmares. They were horrors that plagued sleep, poisoned it. One steady arm wrapped around her shoulders; they seemed thinner than before her ordeal. The blood had drained from her face. "I've got you." He rubbed his hand across her upper back as she sank her head against his shoulder. "Shh." He soothed, his arms encasing her.

With her head against his shoulder, she broke.

_**Author's Note:**_

_I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. This was supposed to be Prentiss' chapter, but something in me decided that this was Morgan's. And when that realization came across, Prentiss' chapter fell apart and a new one for her came into place. I hope that you liked the decision I made. He's sort of like her big brother, you know?_

_I also want to remind all of you about the 2009 Criminal Minds FanFiction awards. There's a link on my homepage. You don't have to have a livejournal account to vote: just go to livejournal and read the instructions, and click on the link for the survey. Then you can just put your username for ff in on the survey and .net so they know what site you come from. I've been nominated for a few categories - The Art of Butterflies has been nominated for the Best Work In Progress - but there are also plenty of categories with fabulous authors and stories. _

_Please review? I've had one of those horrible days - I ripped off a fingernail in gym, to start - and typing is painful. And reviews make a little smile come on my face. So, please?_


	30. Chapter 30

**The Art of Butterflies**

Three days that came and went like the drip of molasses. They were stop and go, made of fear and resentment and hatred. The days were made of moments she was sure she wouldn't make it through, hours where she feared every unfamiliar face. Will came and went, because she was unwilling to let Henry stay with a babysitter. Neither mentioned that she feared him staying because she trusted no one but those she already knew. Neither mentioned it, but each knew it was there.

While each day was made of hate for the man who'd done this, fear of what could come, resentment of everything, it was also made of overwhelming love. The love was a circle, formed around her and excluding everything that she feared. The circle was formed by not only Will, but every member of her team. That was what they were. They were her team, as they'd reminded her of countless times, even if she didn't yet know what she was going to d, even if she couldn't consider either option just yet because each one scared her just as much as the next. There'd been a time when she'd doubted. She'd been unsure of whether or not they needed her. She'd been unsure of everything, but they'd reminded her, and she had to trust them because she couldn't do anything else.

The nights were worse than the days. The nights brought darkness, but it was a darkness that Morgan stayed with her throughout. She tried to persuade him to leave each night, but was thankful every night she woke up screaming and he was there to grasp her hand.

The fourth morning looked better. She didn't quite know what it was about that morning, only that the light seemed clearer and cleaner than it had the day before. It was a fleeting second of clarity, because a moment later the fear came crashing back down on her chest, a weight that disallowed breathing.

Her breath struggled in her chest, and she shot up on the bed, ignoring the disorienting flare of pain in her ribs and the protest of sore muscles. The sunlight was warm on one side of her body, but it left her other half cold. The liaison pressed a hand to her chest, struggling to remain conscious.

A hand was on her back, accompanied by words. "You're alright, Jayje, just take a moment." It wasn't Morgan, but Prentiss. The woman's hand moved up and down her back soothingly. The edge of the bed dipped in as the dark haired woman sat. Exhausted though she'd only just woken, JJ rested her head on Emily's shoulder.

"Every morning," She managed when she wasn't struggling for breath anymore. "I wake like that every morning."

Emily moved her hand to JJ's hair, whispering a soft, "I know."

"I'm doing better, though." There was a smile – or perhaps the ghost of one – on JJ's lips. It was a brief smile, thin, tired, and trying, but Emily couldn't have imagined it.

"You are." Emily agreed, helping her friend rest back against the pillows. To see her like this, after more than three days – where had she forgotten how to compartmentalize? Somewhere along the way, somewhere between Tobias and Bennett, she'd forgotten the skill that had got her through the day. Maybe it had been a gradual thing, the ability shrinking from seeing the pain and the death and the staggering loss. She'd have thought it would happen opposite, but she'd been wrong.

"Morgan went to get coffee." She said by way of explanation, when she'd caught JJ's eyes drifting over the space of the room. "I persuaded him, but it took twenty minutes."

"He's stubborn." JJ responded, voice hoarse. She followed it with a quiet, "Thank you."

"Any time, JJ."

JJ cleared her throat, pausing for a moment as if she were thinking about what she was going to say before she came out with it. "How's Will?" She finally asked, and Emily couldn't help but smile. "I saw that." JJ added, and all Emily could think was _she's in the mood for jokes. _It increased the smile, and JJ rolled her eyes. "Another minute and I'll ask you about your British man."

Emily turned red, but she could hardly think enough to answer. JJ was talking, she was joking, and she didn't know what had brought it on. The profiler knew that days sometimes went like this – up and down like a tide or a wave – but she didn't want to think of JJ as a victim.

"I haven't spoken a word to him since we met." She finally challenged back, to which JJ raised her eyebrows. "You can have Garcia check my phone calls." She'd come here expecting to have a conversation about the past, or maybe just sit here in silence, hoping that whatever horror her friend was imagining would soon end. Would that come soon? She didn't know, but she was glad to sit here in this moment of near normalcy.

"Will called this morning while you were sleeping." She told her, and saw the light in JJ's eyes. Emily could remember all too well the fear that had once been there when she'd spoke of Will, because she'd been afraid of him knowing. It had passed – almost as soon as she'd seen him. "Henry's all right. They'll be down later today."

The profiler took pause before entering a deeper part of the conversation – something that could be a trigger, but she spoke the words anyway. "He loves you, JJ. So much."

The blonde's face fell in the slightest, and Emily held up a finger. "He feels no different about you now than he did a week ago." It was the truth, but it was one that JJ was having trouble accepting. She could see it in her eyes – the secondary doubt, the nanoseconds of time that she struggled with the concept.

"I know." JJ said, and Emily raised her eyebrows until JJ amended. "I'm trying to know."

"What happened to you can't chance his feelings for you, Jayje. You're the same woman, just-"

JJ cut her off. "A bit damaged." She finished, but Emily shook her head.

"I was going to say struggling. You know I'm right." She continued, and it was JJ's turn to raise her eyebrows. "You know it because you asked about him, and if you had no faith in what I was saying you wouldn't have asked in the first place."

JJ sighed, an annoyed sort of thing at Emily's insights.

"You work with a team of profilers, remember?" it was only a half truth, because by this time, JJ was practically profiler herself without having had to take the courses. She'd told Hotch once that she liked the job that she had, without having to be a profiler at all. She still liked her job. She still loved it. She just didn't know if she could go back to it and remain sane.

She looked tired, so tired, and Emily's heart twisted for the woman who'd only just woken. Sometimes, it seemed to Emily as if this was never going to end for her, as if the pain was continuing needlessly when it seemed it should already be over. It was in those moments that she knew the liaison had to be feeing the same thing only tenfold.

When, at noon, Will brought Henry in to see her, there was resolution in her heart. Emily's words were correct, because they were the words that were living inside of her. They were words that only a friend such as her could have brought out.

Friends. They could make any long day shorter.

_**Author's Notes: **_

_There's a lot I could say about my not updating in such a long time. I was planning to, awhile ago, and time got away from me. I really don't even know where it went. I told people that this would be done months ago, and time slipped away so easily. I understand if people aren't reading anymore – but if you are, if there is someone still out there, it would mean the world to me if you reviewed. I don't necessarily know how I feel about this chapter, but I'll leave that up to you guys. _

_I had three people I wanted to dedicate this chapter to, but there are four now. One of the reasons that this chapter took me so long was the decision about AJ Cook and Paget Brewster, which completely threw me off track. I worked a bit to save them, signed petitions and things, but nothing happened – we saved Paget though, didn't we? And we got AJ Cook two episodes instead of one. _

_I want to dedicate this chapter to AJ Cook, because the show wouldn't be the same without her and she was such an inspiration in my writing. _

_It's also to Paget Brewster, because one more season with her isn't enough. _

_Brynnifer, you're right up here with them, because we both know why I'm typing five million miles an hour at the moment. _

_And to the lovely lady who came across me on a website and told me she felt like it was Reid meeting Rossi for the first time. You made me feel like a real author, darling. _


	31. Chapter 31

**The Art of Butterflies **

"Our sorrows and wounds are healed only when we touch them with compassion."  
-Buddha

She hated this. Penelope Garcia hated that every time it seemed like her team couldn't possibly have to face another horror, something terrible happened. Why did they keep getting bombarded? Why didn't it stop? The analyst was an optimist at heart but these days, the world was trying to rob her of it. Strong fisted misery was trying to deplete her stock of cheery – but she wasn't going down without a fight.

And she wouldn't let JJ, either.

The name of the game - for Garcia at the very least - had become to try and distract her. To keep her from falling into depression, born from exhaustion. Garcia knew depression. The happy, go lucky woman had lost her parents at eighteen. The woman that believed everything happened for a reason had begun to let herself believe nothing would be right again.

Garcia paused in the doorway, breath catching in her throat, hands clutching her bag in front of her. Her eyes landed on the only reason she was visiting the hospital, lying in the hospital bed. She looked so tired, worn out. It was all Garcia could do not to burst into tears right there, but she bit them back. She wasn't going to let her friend – her _best friend_ – see tears after all she'd gone through.

She almost looked as though she was sleeping, but she was far from doing anything of the sort. Not when Morgan was spending every night here and said she could hardly sleep for more than an hour without waking up. She had to be exhausted, beyond it, and Garcia could feel her heart breaking. There was a wrenching, tired sort of sadness all over JJ's face – and even in knowing this, Garcia knew there was improvement. This fragile state she was in was _improvement_.

Countless monsters in human form had wreaked havoc on her team. Buford, Tobias, Cyrus, Viper, Battle, Foyet, the list spun on. They'd overcome countless trials with dents in their armor, but no fatalities. Only, how long was it going to last? How long someone delivered the final blow to one of her ducklings?

They'd seen their share of monsters, but it wasn't _fair_. Garcia knew what this could do to someone. She'd counseled victims before, but it was more than that: she knew what it was like to lose your trust in humanity, even if it was just for a short amount of time. She knew what it was like to have it taken away from you.

JJ had seen a lot. She'd been through a lot. But she'd never been the one in danger. She'd never had to go through that. Couldn't one of them remain untouched? Did they all have to go through hell? JJ was just … she was _Jayje_. Why did there have to be someone who tried to take that from her? She was so _good_, and it wasn't fair that somebody would try to take that away. Nobody had the right to do this to her, _nobody_.

Emily looked over from the chair she was sitting on, nodded at her, kissed JJ's forehead, and said something that sounded a lot like 'The Oracle of Quantico is here'. Something akin to a smile appeared on their friend's face, and Garcia had to suppress one of her own.

She stopped in the doorway on her way out, pausing to put a hand on Garcia's shoulder. "Be careful with her," Emily said, her voice quiet even amongst all the silence. "I'm only going down to the café. If you need me…" She let the sentence trail.

"We won't." She said, and tried not to let her voice shake. They weren't doing this on purpose. No, they always had the best intentions in mind, no matter what they were doing – especially when it came to their team. It didn't matter, though: self-doubt had been placed like a parasitic worm in her brain, and it had a sharp toothed grip.

She'd come across Hotch in the hallway of the hotel, who looked just as exhausted and pained as he'd been when Foyet had a hold on him. Despite the enormous pressure on their fearless leader's shoulders, he was a tour de force. He'd organized everything from the hotel rooms they'd rented in D.C. just to be that much closer, to working with Will to make sure JJ had only the best doctors, and on top of all that, he'd made sure nothing concerning _journalists_ or _media_ were allowed anywhere near her hospital room.

He'd already known where Garcia was going, because if one of them wasn't at the hotel, or dealing with the public, they were at the hospital. Hotch himself had been there this morning. (Garcia was convinced he no longer had a biological need for sleep; he was superman with a cape. The mental image got her through the day, if nothing else.)

But he'd smiled in a warm, tired, Hotch sort of way and told her JJ was tired, depressed, and to try not to mention the media.

That was where self-doubt had began.

She'd calmed the nervous butterflies by the time she'd driven to the hospital, where she ran into Morgan in the hallway. He was a sight for sore eyes, even when half-dead on his feet, worry lines across his forehead, wired with electricity that seemed to be the only thing keeping him awake.

Anger. Garcia wasn't a profiler but she could detect the desperate anger behd those eyes.

She'd woken up screaming, Morgan had said was strain in his voice. It was nothing new, but this time, she'd told him, half out of her mind, that she wanted _out_. She'd told him she couldn't stand the hospital anymore. He said it all with a tired, exhausted, pained set to his voice.

And then he'd reminded her not to mention the hospital. Worry blossoming once again, she'd kissed his cheek and told him to get some rest. He'd kissed her hair and smiled but promised nothing of the sort.

They meant the best: all of them. Each and every time they'd given her a piece of a advice when she went to visit JJ, they'd meant the best. But it didn't change the fact that doubt had wormed its way in, doubt that said a singular thing: _she could make it worse, easily_. Because she wasn't a profiler and she didn't know these things. She counseled victims but this was _JJ_.

But she stepped inside and let the doubt fall behind the surface, because that was what she needed to do for her.

"Alright, missy, what are we doing today?" She took the seat that Emily had left, still warm. It'd been five days since JJ had been admitted to the hospital, five days since they'd rescued her from Bennett. She'd asked to see Will more often in the past two days, something that Emily had accomplished getting her past with a flourish.

Garcia still wasn't quite sure how.

They were all running on empty. The hotel rooms they'd rented were occupied for the minimum amount of time somebody needed to sustain themselves – and even then, nobody really slept. From what Garcia knew of Prentiss, the woman had slept a total of eight hours in the past three days.

But if they were running on empty, Morgan was keeping himself alive by sheer will. He'd stayed with her, every single night. Emily had finally convinced him that he needed sleep - the third day, she'd told him that if he didn't leave and get some sleep, he wasn't going to be any use to her when night rolled around again. It wasn't that Will hadn't offered, but by the time JJ was comfortable with him being there, JJ and Morgan had fallen into a comfortable routine, something only they knew. It was like he was making up for it, for failing her.

They all were.

They'd all failed her.

But Garcia was determined to make up for it.

Morgan might be their extreme, but none of them ever went very far. One of them in her room, one of them in the cafe, all of them near, always circling protectively. It was instances like these that made Garcia love her pseudo-family even more. JJ had once told her that you do whatever it takes to protect your family, and in the past few days the BAU couldn't have done more to prove her right.

If she had offered – if she had said a single word to not wanting them there – they'd have left. But she hadn't. She'd clung to them, talked to them, shared fears and secrets and they were willing to stay there until she ordered them away. There wasn't a single place any of them would be willing to be, other than here.

With family, hurt and terrified family. Family who needed them, needed _her_.

She needed to do this right.

"I've got plenty of movies, sunshine." Garcia tried not to think about how unfitting that was at the moment: despite the improvement, JJ was far from being near sunshine. It felt like ages ago, but these positions had once been reversed. JJ had sat by her side when she'd been shot; she'd sat there while she'd promised not to treat her like the victim – a promise they'd all silently made to JJ without her having to ask. "Or we could just watch TV. Morgan's got that thing paid for straight through to Christmas…"

In realizing her words, Garcia faltered. "N-not that you'll be here that long." She said, biting her lip and feeling the threat of tears stinging behind her eyes.

"I know what you meant, Pen." JJ's voice was light, as though some of the weight had lifted, but there was exhaustion in her voice. She was tired today, it was easy to notice - and the medication was wearing off. Despite all protests to the contrary, she'd refused to take any more, and she had the right to claim it. Exhaustion had creeped into every line of her face. Blue eyes that had begun to sparkle again were often squeezed shut. "I wouldn't mind TV."

Garcia flipped it on, searched through the channels, and stopped when JJ nodded at Friends.

They let the room fall silent, the TV going in the background, JJ's hand resting in Garcia's. If nothing else, it was a momentary peace. It was a pause; it was the silence only friendship could offer, the honest truth of friendship that could heal wounds and hearts. For Garcia, friendship had always been the catalyst that allowed her to heal. If nothing else, she could offer the same to JJ. She could offer the safety and sanity of friendship, the unconditional love of someone who cared about you. She could offer that light in the dark.

"Penelope?" Her voice spoke into the quiet of friendship, speaking in that voice that meant she was ready to talk. Garcia reached for the remote and turned off the TV before turning eyes to her friend.

"Yeah, Jayje?"

The woman in question opened her mouth and closed it, before pushing a hand through her hair. "Where am I supposed to go from here?"

The question was in her voice. It was odd to think but it was JJ's voice that asked that question. Though she asked it so strongly, it was an honest question that left her with a hint of vulnerability that tugged at Garcia's heart. The question wormed its way into her brain again: _Why_? JJ was sunshine and lightness and _tough skinned_; it wasn't fair for somebody to change that without her consent.

"Oh, Jayje," Her voice cracked. "You're ..."

"How am I supposed to ..." Her voice trailed off. "... be myself again?"

Garcia pressed her lips together, trying to force back tears. JJ didn't need tears; she needed strength. She needed kooky, strange, wacky Garcia who was always ready to offer a shoulder to cry on, advice when she needed it, _anything_ and _everything_ because that was what friends did.

"You are so strong, JJ." She said, hoping that her voice wouldn't falter from unshed tears, her eyes shining bright with them. "Unbelievably strong."

She nodded, lifted a hand up, and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was such a normal JJ thing that it nearly lifted Garcia's heart, just the tiniest bit. Only, it meant that she was unsure, or stressed.

"Am I supposed to be okay by now?" Her forehead creased, her voice hinted at exhaustion once again, and she was blinking away tears. "Pen, were always around the victims …" She trailed, and started again. "_You're_ always around the victims –"

"You are not a victim." She was surer of that than anything she'd said all day, and her voice reflected it.

JJ shook her head, clearly unconvinced. "Are they usually alright by now? Are they looking at me? Wondering?"

She thought back – to the time when she'd been laying in a hospital bed and asked JJ for them not to look at her like that. She remembered the fear, and the _terror_ and the way her trust in humanity had been faltering from a single sentence uttered by a madman.

"Nobody's doing that, Jayje. Just like nobody did it with me. We're your friends, sweetheart."

"I know, Pen, but … what if I'm not strong enough?"

And now she was on the other side of it, watching JJ go through something so much worse. How was it that when she'd gone through all of this she was still wondering If she was _doing this right_? If she was _healing _right? It made Garcia's head spin.

And it made her heart break.

"You need to heal on your own time, on your own schedule, not on anybody else's." Garcia's voice was firm, absolute, a finality that wasn't going to be denied. Gently, she stroked her hair, a small touch meant to comfort and reassert.

"Is that what you'd tell them?" The question was honest, and JJ's voice cracked in the middle of it. "The victims?"

She shook her head, still resting her hand on her hair. "It's what I'd tell my friend."

A small, choked sound loosed itself from JJ's throat. This… Garcia … was what she needed. She needed that _friend_, that somebody who wasn't going to back away just because she was injured and frightened. But she couldn't shake the feeling,

That no matter what they were doing for her, she wasn't doing enough for _them_.

"Thank you." She said, because she was thankful. She was thankful for Garcia, for that undeniable friend. She closed her eyes, exhaustion setting in though it was only just past noon.

"But Jayje?"

The words pulled her back from the edge of sleep; she turned her eyes and looked to her.

"You're not gonna do it alone."

JJ's eyes went to the ceiling, and for the first time in what felt like ages she let the tears fall. They didn't come after a period of forcing them back. She allowed them to slip over the edge; JJ allowed her control to break.

Because Garcia was here. And later on, so would Prentiss, or Hotch, and Morgan. One of them would be here. They weren't leaving. Garcia's words reinforced that. And for the first time in five days, she let herself break. Unlike the time in the garage, this break -

It almost felt like healing.

_Author's Note: There are people in this world who are beyond amazing. And then there's __**kdzl**__. She beta'd this chapter. –tips hat to you- You are fantastic! _

_There are things this chapter taught me about friendship. I saw an interview with J.K. Rowling on Oprah, and she said that she doesn't know what she believes in until she writes it. I feel that, with myself, it's the same way: when I write something, I know that I believe in it. I found with this chapter that I believe in friendship. That I believe that it can be the catalyst to change everything. I believe in its power, and that everyone should have those people. This is to those people in my life. You know who you are, really: the people who have been there for me, the people who WILL be there for me, no matter what I say or do or who I am. _

_Thank you. _


	32. Chapter 32

Words were their medium.

His were paper and ink, born of death and unspeakable horrors, churned during late nights and bouts of insomnia. They were words that extended his dark days into dark nights, because the words were dark as the ink that birthed them. He sometimes hated that the darkness permeating his days lasted into his nights, that insomnia couldn't be cured with anything less than the dark words he typed late into the night.

Her words were spoken into air before others put them into words, often twisting and bending their meaning. Her words, though: they often had what his did not. His were after the fact, post mortem, unable to change a thing. Hers, though, were spoken with meaning. Jennifer Jareau's words were hopeful. His were dark. Hers were light. Her words could help, even though they were often dark. They were twice as difficult as his: she had to work twice as hard because of the press, the inevitable middleman.

And hell if he didn't admire her for it.

David Rossi and Jennifer Jareau were different in numerous ways. He could admit to being hardheaded and stubborn, but JJ was persistent and ceaseless. She fought for what she believed in, something he'd always admired of the young woman.

But she was tired. She was still fighting, but she was tired.

He was willing to do some of the fighting for her. No, he'd never really been a family man – three failed marriages were no small feat to speak of – but if he were to consider the Behavioral Analysis Unit his family, he'd do whatever he could for them.

That much was simple. It hadn't started out that way, of course. He hadn't always been the man who'd fight for the team. Perhaps others still didn't see him that way – but he knew that when it came right down to it, there was nobody on the team he wouldn't risk his life for.

So he'd fight for her. It was simple enough. He'd fight for what she believed in, for what he knew she believed in, when she couldn't do the fighting herself. When she needed a little help finding her way. He wouldn't push or shove, he'd merely point.

Whether she followed or not, that was up to her. He was just there to start the battle.

She had to win the war.

That was how he'd ended up in her hospital room, around five in the evening, on a Tuesday night. It wouldn't be long until she'd be released now. Physically, she was coming around. There'd be physical therapy involved – a pain in the ass, Rossi knew from experience, but a necessary evil- but the psychological scars would take the longest time to recover from.

Rossi knew that, too.

She was on the road to recovery, of course. She was up and walking. Nobody could force any of this – she had to do this on her own time. Rossi knew that. They all did. But he could help – anything he could do, he'd do it. It was barely a week and a half since she'd been found, and she was doing well whether or not she saw it.

He paused at the doorway to the room, giving her privacy. There was a nurse standing next to her bed, which she was sitting up in with a pen in her hand. She was being released tomorrow – with considerable caution – but he didn't like the look on her face. He took note of how pale she seemed, and how her mouth was in a tight line.

"The address you're being released to goes here," He heard the nurse tell her, and his eyes flashed back to the woman the nurse was addressing. JJ's jaw was clenched, her hand a little bit too tight on the pen she was gripping. He debated on whether to step into the room or not, but JJ seemed to make the decision for him.

Her eyes lifted to his, finally noticing his presence. There was pain in his eyes, pain he desperately wished wasn't there.

He stepped into the room, clearing his throat. The nurse turned, looking a bit frustrated, a bit frazzled, and maybe just a tad overworked.

"Can I help you?"

She was being pleasant, of course, but she was also being dismissive. He thought about flashing his badge, but she once again took the decision out of his hands. Even with the state he was currently seeing she was in, it felt to him like an improvement – a little one, but one all the same. She was being just a little bit assertive, subconscious or not.

"He's alright, Jean." She said, and then addressed him. Was it only him that caught the shake in her voice when she spoke, even though she visibly trying to force it away by gripping on to that pen even tighter? "You can come in, Rossi."

He offered the nurse a smile and a nod even though he'd love to do nothing more than shove her out of the room. She seemed to take it as a cue to restart the discharge papers, and turned back to her patient.

"The address? I can't release you without an address, Jennifer."

The pen in her hand hovered over the paper, the muscles in her jaw twitching, and he made the decision to step in.

"Maybe I can help you with that." He said, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"That sounds great, Rossi." There was hesitance in her voice, but she spoke the words anyway. She looked back to the nurse. "I'll get this back to you when I'm done."

Rossi had to hide the smile that the words brought. It was definitely an improvement, however small – even though her current state had him worried. The woman – Jean, JJ had called her – didn't seem to happy about it, but she nodded and left .

"JJ-"

"I'm fine, Dave." She told him, and he lifted his eyes to the form she was filling out. The way she'd spoken told him nothing less than the conversation was over, but he wasn't going to leave it at that.

"JJ, you don't have to be-"

She sighed, and lifted his eyes to him, away from the form. "Yes, I do."

He took the seat that always seemed to be besides her bed. She was forcing a smile.

"I know you think you have to be brave, JJ, but-"

She turned her eyes on him. He was surprised at the fear and _fierceness_ there. "I don't think it, okay?" Her voice was wavering. "I'm going back home today. Henry's going to be there, and Will." Her voice was just on the edge of steady. "You guys get it, but, I don't – " She cleared her throat and forced her eyes back to the paper, scribbling down the address. The letters that appeared on the paper were dark with the force of the pen.

"It's fine." She repeated, biting out the words like she wanted to believe them.

"Let me tell you something," Rossi said, his eyes gently on her. He waited until she paused, put down the pen, and participated in the conversation.

"What?" Her voice definitely told him that she wanted no part in this conversation – that maybe, she'd let him in just because he was a safer option than the nurse.

"It's about this woman I know." He said. "She's a great mother, a great friend – hell, she's good at everything she does. But she puts way too much pressure on herself. And right now, she's scared. And she's afraid she's going to fail. But you see, that's another thing about her. She doesn't have to worry about that. Because the people around her understand, and they know what she's gone through."

"Rossi-"

He stopped. "JJ, you don't need to worry. We've got your back."

She looked away from him. "I have to go home today. I can't _sit_ here and … _and pretend_."

"I know."

"What if.." She took a breath, and he noticed her eyes filling with tears. "What if things don't go right? I'm …" The word got caught in her throat, and a strangled, pained sound escaped. "I'm scared. I don't know how to be scared. I know how to be _strong_, and …" her words trailed off.

"That doesn't mean you're not strong. I think it means you're _very_ strong."

"I don't."

"I've got enough belief for the both of us."

She sighed, her voice wavering even more. "What if I can't handle being back? I … kind of want things to go away. To just pretend it's alright. I want… " She paused. "I want to be able to go back to work. I didn't think I did, but… I don't know how _not_ to do that job."

He shrugged a shoulder. "I think you're doing the opposite of pretending right now, JJ."

Her brow furrowed.

"You're not hiding from me. You're talking."

"It's different."

"Not by much. And you _want_ to go back. That's something right there."

She shook her head. "It doesn't feel like it. It feels like I've lost everything."

"If you didn't feel like that, at least for awhile, I'd be worried. You went through a lot. But you're doing well. You don't have to go back today. Or tomorrow. Or even this year. But you want to. And you'll do it. Because you're _strong_."

The tears he'd seen in her eyes had spilled over. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.

He offered a smile and picked up the pen for her.

"What do you say we get these papers finished? I know a few people who can't wait to see you."

_**Author's Note: **_

_If kdzl did not exist, neither would this chapter. The girl's amazing. Thank you for letting me idea bounce, and for coming up with ideas for this chapter. _

_Don't worry, guys, this story isn't over yet. There are several more chapters on their way. On that note, guys, if you've been vaguely enjoying this? The Art of Butterflies has been nominated for best drama in ilovetvalot's __**Profiler's Choice FanFic Awards. **__Voting ends on November 30__th__, and info is on her page. It would absolutely mean the world to me if you voted – and if you've been enjoying Memoir, by KaviLeighanna and myself, we've been nominated for __**Best Crossover**__. _

_Please drop a review for your tired fanfic author. _


	33. Chapter 33

_Author's Note: I wrote this to the song Give me Strength by Snow Patrol. I'm crying as I write this because this has been such a long journey. It's over two years ago that I started this story. I know that's a long time and I'd apologize for it, but all I really want to say it … thank you. Thank you to the people who are reading and who read this while I was in tenth grade, and now I've finished my first year of college and it feels like a journey in itself. _

_Yes, this is the last chapter of this story – even though we have an epilogue. _

_I want to say thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. _

"_My friends we've seen it all,  
Triumphs to drunken falls,  
And our bones are broken still,  
But our hearts are joined until,  
Time slips its tired hand,  
into our tired hand,  
We've got years til that day,  
And so much more to say." _

Blue eyes darted ahead, towards the hospital room door. A pale hand finally free of IV tubes reached up to rub her brow. The dying light of the day streamed weakly through the window, reminding JJ of the hours of paperwork that had delayed them until now.

"I don't need the wheelchair." She murmured, eyes going to where Hotch stood, just slightly in front of her. "Really." Eyes playful, she straightened out a leg to show him. "I can _walk_, Hotch."

There was really nothing she wanted more than to walk out of the hospital, on her own two feet, determination in her eyes as she faced the reporters, the media, that she knew would be there, waiting for her. Waiting to pick apart weakness – but maybe that was just her. She knew she was being critical, and overly so – but she couldn't help it. A fallen FBI agent – the media would treat her kindly. Nobody was going to pick her apart.

Nobody but herself.

It tasted like sharp disappointment.

"I know, Jayje." Prentiss said from just behind the wheelchair. "But it's-"

"Hospital policy." JJ repeated the words she'd heard more than once in the past half hour – by nurses, her doctor, Hotch … she rolled her eyes.

She was going home. There was a vaguely unpleasant mixture of excitement and anxiety rolling in her stomach. Home, after the case that felt like it would never end. Home to another world of uncertainty. Where the ought of Will sometimes brought a nervous roll to her stomach. When she still sometimes screamed in the morning because she thought she could see Bennett's eyes. And though Morgan didn't have to stay the night as often as he had, she still woke up screaming.

How was she supposed to go back to Will, to Henry? To be normal and do her … her job? Could she do that?

She wanted to. That was all she knew. All she was certain of.

"Sorry," Prentiss said, ghosting a hand over JJ's shoulder. The word said much more than being sorry for the wheelchair. Sometimes it was easy to forget that everyone she knew was a profiler.

They'd made the decision not to have the whole team there while she was leaving, though each of them had been there throughout the day – anything more than two people now was going to cause a commotion. Garcia, Rossi, Reid, and Morgan were waiting in the SVUs to follow them back.

It was Will who was waiting in their car – Will, with Henry, waiting with their son to bring them home. Sometimes it still felt like the world was something spinning, chaotic, madness all around her and she couldn't control it. That the thoughts – _Will can't love you now _– were never going to leave.

She wasn't quite sure how to handle that.

"Ready?" Hotch asked, a brow raised. His face was lighter than it was during the hours of work. There was something playful and warm in his eyes that she wished was always there, that the job didn't take away from each of her teammates.

But she knew this job. She knew it like the back of her hand, knew what it did. That light in Hotch's eyes went into hiding the moment pictures of a mutilated body jumped across his screen.

JJ realized she hadn't answered him when he stepped closer, kneeling down in front of her. It didn't bother her when he did that, when the team did that – it meant something different when they did it than when someone else would. It wasn't demeaning.

It was just them. Because they were profilers. Or maybe just because they knew her. And she knew them.

Like the back of her hand.

He waited.

What she meant to say was, "I'm ready."

Instead, she heard herself say, "He's not in the hospital anymore?"

It was something she hadn't been able to bring herself to say for the past few weeks when she was in the hospital. He'd been brought to the same hospital as her, and she knew that – knew that he was chained to the bed and there was no way he was getting inside of her room. But somehow… stepping outside of this room for the final time was different.

If it was possible for Hotch's face to soften further, it did. She felt Prentiss' hand on her shoulder, clasping gently.

"He hasn't been here for a long time, Jennifer."

She nodded once, brushed away stray hairs that had fallen in front of her eyes.

"Right. Let's do this, then."

Hotch returned her smile.

The hospital halls were lit with the fluorescent lights she hoped she'd never have to see again for such an extended period of time. Hotch walked by her side, Prentiss pushed the wheelchair … the halls rolled by, halls she didn't have to come back to. It was hard to imagine that after everything, she was going home.

But with every inch of hallway that was behind her, it was another inch of hallway she was never going to see again.

And she couldn't help but smile.

It was on the ground floor, near the reception desk, that Hotch held out a hand and Prentiss stopped the wheelchair. The hand he'd used to stop Prentiss was suddenly held towards her.

"That's against policy," She said, but there was a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Screw policy," Came Prentiss' response, and then they both had her hands and she was standing, walking, step after step towards the hospital doors, walking like she had in physical therapy but this was different.

This felt like control. Like power.

The air smelled like springtime.

And JJ laughed.

Reporters asked their usual questions. _How are you feeling? Are you ready to put this behind you? How's your baby boy, Henry, right? Is there anything you want to say?_

"I'd love to eat something besides hospital food," she told that reporter, and felt her heart soar by merely speaking into the microphone again. It felt like… like home.

Questions were tossed at her even as Hotch and Prentiss walked with her towards the car where Will and Henry waited (and she hardly recognized that they were no longer holding her hands, that there were tears in Prentiss' eyes and Hotch was smiling in a way that he hadn't in a very, very long time.)

_Agent Jareau, will you be rejoining the Behavioral Analysis Unit? _

She stopped walking, waiting for the cold feeling of doubt in every decision to creep back up.

Only, it didn't.

"It's too early to know what I want just yet," She said into the microphone, meeting eyes with Hotch, and then Prentiss. "I'm going to have to see where life takes me."

Control felt good.

But letting go felt a little bit better.

She stepped back towards Hotch, reached towards him, and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Aaron. For everything."

She enveloped herself in Prentiss' arms. "Thank you for what you said." A tear hit her collarbone, but JJ didn't know if it was hers or Emily's.

And then she slipped into Will's car, into the front seat, next to him.

"Jen," He said, and then she was kissing him.

Doubt was a cruel, vicious thing. Self-doubt was even worse.

Sometimes, it felt like the thoughts were never going to leave.

It was in moments like this that they did.

"_You dragged me up and out,  
Out of the darkest place,  
There's not a single doubt,  
When I can see your faces,  
My friends we've seen it all,  
When it made no sense at all,  
You dare to light my path,  
And found the beauty in the aftermath." _

_Give me Strength, Snow Patrol _


End file.
